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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



BRIGHT DAYS IN 
MERRIE ENGLAND 



jFour=fn=2£airt Journrws 



BY 
A. VANDOREN HONEYMAN 



ILLUSTRATED 



pamfoto, ilcm 3et»eg 

iijonroman $c iTompnno 

1901 



THE LIBRARY OF 
eONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

JAN. 11 1902 

CorrmOMT ENTHY 

0LAS8 O^XXa No. 

1 a t>^ 

oopy a 



Copyright, 1901, by 
A. V. 1). HONEYMAN 



TO MAUD 



" A thing of beauty is a joy forever : 
Its loveliness increases ; it ivitt never 
Pass into nothingness ; but still %ill keep 
A bovjer quiet for us, and a steep 
Full of siveet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. 
Therefore, on etery morro%>, are <we <wreatbing 
A flotvery band to bind us to the earth, 
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth 
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, 
Of all the unhealthy and o 'er-darken 'd ivays 
Made for our searching : yes, in spite of all, 
Some shape of Beauty moves a<way the pall 
From our dark spirits. 

—John Keats. 




PREFACE. 



Nathaniel Hawthorne, under date of 1855, writing 
in the vicinity of Grasmere, but having in mind, doubt- 
less, other portions of the " land of ancient chivalry," 
deliberately set down in his Diary these words: " I 
question whether any part of the world is so beautiful 
as England. ... If England were all the world, 
it still would have been worth while for the Creator 
to have made it, and mankind would have had no 
cause to find fault with their abode; except that there 
is not enough room for as many as might be happy 
there." 

Such a judgment will seem but rhapsody to those 
who have not visited this wonderful Motherland across 
the sea. But after coaching nearly a thousand miles 
among the hills and valleys of England and Scotland, 
during past successive summers. I adopt his language 
as a foreword to this volume, and say to all who are not 
personally acquainted with that most delightful of 
lands: Go and see England; there is nothing like it 
under the sun! 



viii PREFACE 

Guidebooks do not give one the precise atmos- 
phere of localities, and often impart indifferently the 
aroma of their historical and literary associations. Sup- 
plementary volumes like this are, therefore, needed to 
give zest to the digestion. 

It scarcely need be added that " Bright Days" is n< it 
a guidebook; nor is it intended to be a history, or a 
work for the learned. It is a plain and simple tale of 
travel, by one who feels strongly his limitations in 
powers of description. It is a record of hundreds of 
hours, among the pleasantest and happiest I have ever 
spent in travel. My impressions may differ from oth- 
ers on some points, but every associate on these 
" Four-in-hand Journeys " knows how much more de- 
lightful it is to coach in " dear, old England " than to 
see it in any other fashion. 

At the end of the work will be found an Index, for 
purposes of ready reference; also a " Table of Approx- 
imate Mileage " of the various coaching trips de- 
scribed. 

Special acknowledgment for the use of original 
photographs is due to associate travelers on these 
coaching excursions; among them to Mr. Mnlford 
Estil, Mr. George D. Ehni, Mr. Finley Acker, Rev. 
Dr. E. B. Cobb, Mr. Frederick Eberhardt, Mr. Ulrich 
Eberhardt, Hon. Oscar R. Hundley, Mr. Arthur H. 
Boyd, Miss Zula E. Rogers, Miss Elizabeth A. 
Hughes, and others. Other photographs have been 
reproduced from various sources. 

A. V. D. H. 
December 2, 1901. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

]. [NTRODUCING THE STORY . i 

II. WOODSTOCK WD FAIR ROSAMOND 13 

III. BANBURY CROSS TO STRATFORD-ON- 

AVON 26 

IV. -THE FINEST DRIVE IN THE KING 

DOM " 49 

V. THE GEORGE ELIOT COUNTRY . . 64 
VI. LORD BYRON'S GRAVE AND NOT 

TINGHAM 79 

VII. THE FIRST UNIVERSITY TOWN 87 

VIII. ALONG THE THAMES 101 

IN. READING AND THREE-MILE CROSS . 114 
X. THE EARLIEST ENGLISH CAPITAL . 125 
XI. ON THE ISLE OF WIGHT . . . .145 
XII. SALISBURY. OLD SARUM AND STONE- 

HENGE 169 

XIII. THE GREAT WHITE HORSE . .197 

XIV. HENLEY RACES AND WINDSOR CAS- 

TLE . . . . . . . . 209 



x CONTENTS 

PAGI 

XV. RUNNYMEDE AND HAMPTON COURT 239 
XVI. STOKE POGIS AND THE GRAVE OF 

WILLIAM PENN 247 

XVII. CHALFONT ST. GILES AND AYLES- 
BURY 260 

XVIII. JOHN HAMPDEN AND MILTON . . 269 
XIX. IN WARWICKSHIRE AGAIN . .277 

XX. THE LAND OF KING ARTHUR . 302 

XXI. " DEAR, SWEET CLOVELLY " AND OLD 

BIDEFORD 319 

XXII. THE HOME OF LORNA DOONE . . 33: 

XXIII. AGAIN ON THE ISLE OF WIGHT . . 348 

XXIV. THE ENGLISH LAKES: WORDS- 

WORTH-LAND 369 

XXV THE ENGLISH LAKES: SOUTHEY- 

LAND 390 

XXVI. THE ENGLISH LAKES: RUSKIN-LAND 402 



APPROXIMATE MILEAGE 
INDEX TO PROPER NAMES 



413 

415 





LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



""Dear, Sweet Clovelly " . . (Frontispiece) 

The English Coach of a Century Ago 

Mr. William Franklin .... 

Duke of Marlborough's Palace, " Blenheim 

The Four Coachmen .... 

The Coaches Starting Off 

Upon the Road 

An English Garden .... 
An English Gateway .... 
The Cross at Banbury .... 
Red Lion Hotel, Banbury 

Oliver Cromwell 

Sulgrave Manor — Ancestral Home of Washington 
Going into Shakespeare's Birthplace 
Anne Hathaway's Cottage 
" The Birds were Plentiful " 
Warwick Castle from the Bridge 
Kenilworth Castle 
'Queen Elizabeth 
Mrrvyn's Tower 
Amy Robsart .... 
The Lady Godiva Procession. Coventrj 
Lady Godiva .... 
Mary, Queen of Scots . 
George Eliot .... 



i 
10 
13 
14 
[5 

17 

22 

21 

30 

32 

34 

37 

4i 

45 

49 

53 

57 

60 

62 

63 

64 

65 

68 

7i 



LIST OF [ILLUSTRATIONS 



PAGI 

Griff Ilou^e — Home of George Eliot .... 73 

Street View of Old Hinckley— Our Arrival . 77 

Where Robin Hood ]\Iet his Merrie Men ... 79 

Lord Byron*- Tomo 83 

Nottingham Castle 86 

< >xford from Christ Church Meadows . . . 8; 

View of Magdalen College. ( >xfo~d .... 95 

Driving About Oxford 99 

Houseboat on the Thames ...... 101 

ither Start Upon the Coach ..... 102 

"' Once We Saw a Church so Pretty "... 105 

Church of St. Peter",-. Wallingford .... 109 

" The Squirrels were Scampering on the Trees and 

Vines " 114 

Leaving the Queen's Hotel, Reading . . . . tl8 

Ruins of Hyde Abbey 125 

The Cathedral, Winchester . . . . . . 127 

King Arthur's Round Table . . . . 132 

Grave of Alfred the Great 141 

Statue of Alfred the Great, by Thornycroft . . 143 

" Boats in Full Sail " 145 

The Keep, Carisbrooke . . . . . . 152 

King Charles the First 156 

Lord Tennyson ..... . 164 

A Typical English Home ...... 167 

Choir Boys 169 

The Abbey. Romsey 171 

Salisbury Cathedral from Best Point of View . . 175 

Salisbury Cathedral from Across the Avon . . 177 

"An Exceedingly Pretty Postoft'ice " ... 186 

Stonehenge 187 

Studying the Stones 190 

Night View of " The Great White Horse "' . . 197 

" How We Did Make the Dust Fly" ... 201 

Stopping a Moment at a Wayside Inn . . 203 

\ Glimpse of Windsor 209 

ten the Race-. Henley-on-Thames . . . 213 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



" Leander is Ahead "... 
Windsor Castle .... 

Queen Victoria .... 

Bushy Park. Hampton Court 
Magna Charta [sland 
The Coaches Leaving Staines 
Entering Hampton Court Palace . 
" Those Blarsted 'Orses " 
William Penn .... 

Church and Churchyard, Stoke Pogi 

William Penn's Grave ...... 

" Sweeter than any other Ducks that Grow " 
Home of John Milton. Chalfont St. Giles 
Street and Market View, Aylesbury 
Street View in Thame ...... 

John Milton ........ 

A Wayside Inn in Buckinghamshire . 

Romeo and Juliet ....... 

Visiting " Blenheim " Again ..... 

The Presenl Duke of Marlborough 

"The Handsomest Lodge in England" 

Red Horse Hotel., Stratford-on-Avon . 

Parlor (Washington Irving's Room), Stratford-on 

Avon ........ 

Marie Corelli's Residence, Stratford-on-Avon . 
The " Black Bust " of Shakespeare 
The Shakespeare Memorial Theatre 

Charleeote Mansion 

"The School Children. Who Lined Up in a Row.' 

Hampton Lucy 

That " Finest Drive " Road to Coventry 
A Brake Leaving fCenilworth .... 
The Older Portion of Stoneleigh Abbey . 
King Arthur and His Merrie Knights 

A Waterfall near Tintagel 

Leaving the " Wharncliff Arm-" 

" Where Pirates Formerly Dwelt " — Roseastle Harbor 



215 
221 
23 i 

23! I 
-'4i 
-'4-' 
-'44 
246 
-'47 
-'5i 
258 
260 
262 
26; 
26 

-'75 
276 
-77 
278 
279 
28] 
282 

283 
284 

285 
290 

293 

-"'5 
20 7 

298 

299 
302 
30s 

5 1 3 

515 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



P M.l 

"The Birds Were in Unusual Numbers" . . . 319 

A Street View in Clovelly 322 

An Artistic House in Clovelly 324 

Old Bridge at Malmsmead 335 

The Doone Valley 339 

The John Ridd Church at Oare 345 

" The Darling Daughter of Charles I." . 348 

A Peaceful Churchyard, Bonchurch .... 349 

A Charming Spot, Shanklin 353 

Home of the Dairyman's Daughter, Arreton . . 355 

Church of the Dairyman's Daughter, Arreton . . 357 

The " Jacob " of 1901 361 

The " Magnet " Party Stopping on the Way . . 363 

Lake Windermere 369 

John Wilson, (" Christopher North ") 372 

Rydal Mount 377 

Wordsworth 379 

Grasmere . . . . . . . 38] 

Dove Cottage 385 

Wordsworth's Grave 387 

Southey's Monument ....... 390 

The Top of Helvellyn 391 

Greta Hall 395 

Derwentwater 399 

The Old Man of the Mountain 402 

Fox How 405 

Brantwood 407 

John Ruskin 410 




BRIGHT DAYS IN 
MERRIE ENGLAND 




The English Coach of a Century Ago. 



I.— INTRODUCING THE STORY. 

WILLIAM WINTER'S England is. after all, 
as attractive as any of the numerous Eng- 
lands which American writers have present- 
ed. True, one critic says of his works that they are 
" lachrymose, though charming." But I presume he 
means that> they are on the whole sober and solid, 
like the English people themselves. The country de- 
scribed is without claptrap or frivolity, and this is what 
one must expect to find in such books as " Gray Days 
and Gold," if he would secure just first-impressions of 
a land given over to much fog and rain, but to a host 
of bright days as well. As to humor, it seems almost 
out of place in England, for you never come in con- 
tact with it. Its people never did possess a fine sense 
of humor, and Mark Twain must have understood 
this, for his " Tramp Abroad " failed to touch its 
shores. 

As a fervid admirer of " Gray Days," " Ivy 
Shrines " and " Shakespeare's England," may I ven- 
ture the assertion that, to an American, at least, the 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MEERIE ENGLAND 

whole country of Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton and 
Tennyson — its four greatest poetic lights — including 
the fen and Scotch borderlands, is brilliant with 
brighter colorings and redolent with sweeter fragrance 
because Winter, following Washington Irving, has 
written what he has covering this isle across the sea. 
Without his descriptions, the Shakespeare-land would 
be stripped of half its beautiful lights and shades, and 
many a pretty pastoral setting, glorious romance, gray 
dawn and tender twilight would be beyond our ken. 
I never met with an educated American abroad who 
did not feel kindlier toward dimpled Warwickshire 
and soft Loch Lomond, or who did not appreciate bet- 
ter the Avon and the Caledonian hills, if he had first 
made the acquaintance of those historic and romantic 
regions through the pen of either one of our two 
American writers, who, alike reverently and tenderly, 
have photographed sights and geniuses on British soil 
with inimitable skill. England, as I have seen it for 
many summers, is superlatively that which Irving first 
and Winter afterward so graphically pictured. Hap- 
pily, I never saw it in deep fog or when wrapped in 
snow — which, by the way, is infrequent and lasts but 
a day or two. But I suspect the colder days are not 
half so cold as we have them in the States. It does 
have, even in midsummer, rain and fogs, but without 
them that velvety covering and those wondrous roses, 
the lordly limes and the ivy-mantled ruins, could not 
exist. Besides, as we Americans are not accustomed 
to spend much time in the mother-country during the 
winter or earl)' spring, when climatic conditions are 
heavy and depressing, we surely need not wonder 
what its climate is when we are far away. 

Between the first of May and the end of September 
we find England, not to say many parts of Scotland, 



INTRODUCING THE STORY 

Wales and Ireland, to be the most perfectly finished, 
the most peacefully beautiful, the most historically in- 
teresting land on the face of the whole earth. If 
there are those to say nay to this, they are not among 
the many who have coached up hill and down dale 
through the interior, and who know its best roads and 
sweetest lanes by heart. 

1 For such as have traversed on top of their own 
coach — a coach subject to their own whim and con- 
trol — over any of the ground mentioned in this book, 
or, indeed, anywhere else between the Isle of Wight 
and the English Lakes, England is to-day, and must 
have been in the so-called " Golden Age of good 
Queen Bess," something the like of which may not be 
found this side of the ancient Garden of Eden; the 
Endymion land, where, as Keats sang: 

" in spite of all. 
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall 
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, 
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon 
For simple sheep; and such are daffodills 
With the green world they live in; and clear rills 
That for themselves a cooling covert make 
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake 
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms . . . 
All lovely tales that we have heard or read; 
An endless fountain of immortal drink, 
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink." 

Dates are unimportant, and so the exact years, and, 
indeed, the particular fellow-travellers — who were vari- 
ous, of course — clergymen, editors, doctors, lawyers, 
authors, poets, professors, some millionaires, but all 
friends — of these little " runs " need not be given. 
Dear friends all; the only sad thought in connection 
with the days of out-of-door bliss spent in their com- 
pany, is, that a few of them have since left us for an 
eternal journey under milder skies and in clearer air. 



4 BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIB ENGLAND 

Such must be all the richer for first knowing more 
than most people of the exuberance of wealth of field 
and wold in one little part of this planet, where the 
glorious Saxons and brave Angles mingled their 
blood and braved death to set up their hearthstones of 
love and valor. 

Of course there must be a beginning point for 
everything, and where were we to begin? Naturally 
— historically I should say — we ought to have started 
from London. Because, when the coaching days of 
Merrie England began, the roads for those " flying 
machines.** as the swift coaches were called, all ran 
out, to the east, north, or west, from London. There 
were five at first, (if I am informed aright), and all 
equally interesting from many points of view, espe- 
cially in the way of highway robberies. To rob a 
stagecoach was the acme of ambition on the part of 
the Jack Shepherds of as late as two centuries ago, 
and that they were successful for a time, even to 
reaching the gallows one by one, we know, and they 
knew, too well. Take Claude Duval, for instance. 
French page to the Duke of Richmond, whose career 
as " the greatest of the highwaymen " was cut short 
in 1670. His epitaph is still to be seen in the Cov- 
ent Garden church in London, and it is singular, to 
sav the least, as describing a societv ruffian and gam- 
bler: 

" Here lies Uu Vail: Reader, if Male thou art, 
Look to thy Purse; if Female, to thy heart. 
Much havoc has he made of both; for all 
Men he made stand and Women he made fall. 
The second Conqu'ror of the Norman race 
Knights to his arms did yield and Ladies to his Face. 
Old Tyburn's glory, England's illustrious Thief, 
Du Vail the Ladies' joy; Du Vail the Ladies' Grief." 

Whether his friends or his enemies wrote his epitaph, 



INTRODUCING THE STORY 

they described him well. It is not probable that such 
an inscription, if. indeed, any epitaph at all, ever cov- 
ered the remains of the brothers Weston, hanged at 
Tyburn; or of Bliss, hanged at Salisbur) ; or of Nevi- 
-'•li. hanged at York, all of whom knew what it was 
to delight in pointing their pistols at stagecoach trav- 
elers on these same roads, which then, as now. led 
out from London toward the capitals of the various 
shires, or points of embarkation to foreign shores. 

The " Seven < ireat Roads." as the}- were called, 
used in the Seventeenth Century, were, from London 
to Bath, 107] miles; from London to Exeter, 175 
miles; from London to Portsmouth, 71^ miles; from 
London to Brighton, 51 1; miles; from London to 
Dover, 70 miles: from London to York, 199) miles; 
from London to Holyhead, 260 miles; and every one 
of them covered interesting ground, both to the anti- 
quarian and the sightseer. They were wonderfully 
good for that day in summer, and horribly had in the 
spring, but none of them were a tithe in smoothness 
and hardness of what all English roads are at the 
present time. Those " flying machines " did make ex- 
traordinary time in covering the distance to be tra- 
versed, I will admit; but of upsets, runaways and oth- 
er accidents to coaches, to horses and to passengers, 
there are also innumerable records. There is a print- 
ed time-bill of the " Wonder " coach from London to 
Shrewsbury. 158 miles, in which the time allowed is 
fifteen hours, forty-five minutes; and another of the 
"Telegraph" coach from London to Manchester, 186 
miles, the time given being eighteen hours, fifteen 
minutes. But it is to be noted that these were a little 
later in time to the coaching days of the Seventeenth 
Century, and were after Telford had lived and made 
the surface of the principal English mads hard and 



6 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIB ENGLAND 

smooth, setting the fashion which thev have main- 
tained ever since. Think of what galloping, rounding 
of corners and tearing down hills this speed of ten 
miles an hour meant to those horses, and to their 
drivers, and how terrified or .delighted — according to 
their temperaments — the coach inmates must have 
been, when they were transported in this fashion by 
the " Wonder" or " Telegraph " and their like. Let 
us believe all this was jolly and splendid! But to-day 
there is no need for speed or hurry. The railways 
and bicycles have the speed; let us on the coach at 
the threshold of the Twentieth Century take it more 
easily and prolong the ecstasies of the journey. 

I chose Oxford as the starting point of many of 
our journeys and found no occasion to regret it. In- 
deed, it became the axis about which we afterward 
revolved in nearly every direction, and I did not for- 
sake it until we had somewhat exhausted its capabili- 
ties, and when we needed to look for fresh experi- 
ences in new fields. Then I hunted up odds and ends 
of starting and ending places, wishing to take in the 
English Lake district, the Isle of Wight, " the land 
of Lorna Doone " and elsewhere; and still I am, with 
my friends, finding each summer " new fields and pas- 
tures green." From present prospects life will be too 
short to begin to exhaust the wideness of little Eng- 
land, as we may endeavor to keep on conquering new 
portions of its coaching territory. For I do not be- 
lieve a series of new routes undertaken every year for 
a period of fifty years would make us acquainted with 
the whole of the gently sloping hills and rugged 
mountains, the peaceful valleys and lovely downs, the 
high, chalk plateaus and dark, salty fens, the ocean 
headlands and the lakes, tarns, forests, glens, moors, 
streams, not to speak of the haunts and homes 



INTRODUCING THE STORY 7 

of the gifted, which make up Britain's " lordly isle." 
This being so, all I can hope to accomplish in describ- 
ing several seasons' traveling adventures is to point 
out the simple fact, that nothing one can do as a vis- 
itor to that country will compare, in happy indulgence 
or educating influence, with seeing the country from 
the top of a coach, and always, when possible, from 
a seat on your own coach; and having pointed it out 
to leave the reader to form his own judgment of the 
result. 

There are several quite different types of coaches 
now employed to convey passengers for pleasure in 
the districts of rural England. One is of the heavy, 
strong, primitive type, which is built to-day almost 
as it was in the merrie days of Charles II. It will seat (J 
fourteen persons on the top — the driver and thirteen 
others — in the following order: Front seat, three; sec- 
ond seat, higher up, four; then comes the centre 
where packages are placed; third seat, looking back- 
ward, four; last seat, lower and on a level with the 
front seat, three. In the inside it will seat uncom- 
fortably four, and comfortably two, the two seats 
there facing each other. All seats are cushioned. In- 
side there are cords overhead for stiff hats, and arm- 
rests by the doors. Those who ride backward may 
enjoy naps, but can hardly be expected to enjoy the 
scenery; in fact the inside passengers will see little, 
will get plenty of dust when there is any, and will al- 
ways wish — except in a rainstorm — that they were 
on the outside. There are two doors for ready exit, 
one on either side, but only the upper portion has 
glass. Four persons within and fourteen without 
would make eighteen. But this is too heavy a load for 
four horses on the up-and-down hills of average Eng- 
land, and drivers demur to it, unless there can be a 



8 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

frequent change of horses and a still more frequent 
alighting of travelers to walk up long and heavy 
grades. The rule is not to take over fourteen in all. 
1 may here add that there is this peculiarity about 
the posting roads of Britain, and to it there are 
few exceptions. The hills are interminably long. They 
are so graded as to be less steep than hills in the 
Swiss Mountains, or in Yosemite Valley, but they 
seem to extend on and on, and that without end. A 
hill of one mile in length is so common that one is 
surprised when he encounters another only half as 
long, and some drivers will push the horses at 
speed the whole mile, lest, if they should get down to 
a walk, the " caravansary," as we used to call it, might 
stop forever. Another style of coach has no interior. 
The seats are wholly on top. They are wider than the 
seats on the old-fashioned kind, and, frequently, 
can hold " five abreast." Their quota is sometimes 
twenty or more persons. They are not so heavy in 
weight as the first named, and cost much less. For 
the latter reasons, they are gradually pushing out of 
use the more ancient style of vehicle, although the old 
liverymen of the country view their introduction with 
the usual conservative eye and refuse to believe they 
will not break down under bad spring roads, if not in 
midsummer. In the large cities this is the turnout 
now universally used for everyday coaching. Then 
there are " brakes " in which two rows of seats fa^e 
each other; they will be described later. 

For myself, I confess to a tremendous partiality 
for the real, old-fashioned coach of the forefathers. It 
is absolutely impregnable to external violence or ac- 
cident. It was, I judge, built to survive a century of 
hard usage. When on top, you are perched up so 
high ami you can see so far! Two or three feet of 



INTRODUCING THE STORY 9 

height make a wonderful difference in looking over 
into the domains of his lordship, whose high ston< 
walls you may have to pass along for a full half hour. 
Besides this, you are better arranged for conversa- 
tion with one another, which quite overcomes the ob- 
jection that tour persons on the third seat are riding 
backward. And, not to speak of the coziness of the 
inside when one wants to turn in betimes for a quiel 
nap, on stopping' at noonspell, or when really tired, 
there is just one more quiet little reason 1 must give^ 
for loving the old coach. It is because it is old; be- 
cause it lias as real and as immortal a history as .Mas- 
ter Will Shakespeare, good Samuel Pepys, or " (did 
Ironsides" himself; because 1 know that in the dear 
old days of Merrie England every notable man. wom- 
an and child, who was born heir to a demesne, or ob- 
tained fame as the reward of chance or genius, rode 
in or upon just such a coach. Robbers or no robbers, 
swift or slow, cumbersome and ugly or otherwise, 
these same yellow-painted coaches of "ye olden 
time," with wheels striped in black, when drawn by 
four horses and accompanied by real lackeys, pos- 
sessed then and have to-day a charm which no new- 
fangled modern char-a-bancs, or brakes, can give, and 
which no twittings about "old fogyism " can take 
away. 

William Franklin, the best-known and best-na- 
tured liveryman who ever furnished students at Ox- 
ford with turnouts', was himself on the box as we 
mounted the coach the second day of August for our 
first day's outing. This splendid old man — not so 
aged either, being then but sixty-four — having since 
passed away. I may as well pause just here to lay a 
memorial wreath upon his bier. He was, in experi- 
ence and good nature, facile princeps, among the 



HO BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

coaching masters of Oxfordshire, or of any other 
shire, so far as I know. A driver among- drivers for 
carefulness and conservatism, though not for swift- 
ness. A typical Englishman in weight — he tipped 




Mr. William Franklin. 



the beam at perhaps fifteen stone — he was somewhat 
bald, of florid complexion, with just a bit of side- 
whiskers to make his face interesting. His eyes could 
twinkle like a merry star. I love best to think of him, 
now that he has gone to his reward, as an honest man. 



INTRODUCING THE STORY n 

itrne as steel to a friend, good as gold in his daily walk. 
Having long passed over the period in life when men 
.are young, he was yet in his prime in a country where 
younger men never take the places of their elders until 
'the latter are laid away under the clover, or are whol- 
ly incapacitated for labor. His early struggles, con- 
stant toil and growing responsibilities, to which he 
sometimes referred and not without a touch of pathos, 
had made his three-score-and-four years sit upon him 
with considerable weight, yet, happily, not with too 
great seriousness. He could laugh most heartily, 
•and then was as jocund as good Saint Nicholas, and I 
have seen him blush until his face was like that of the 
jolliest ale-drinker. He liked — what Englishman does 
not? — his quiet glass of ale at meals, but was never 
intemperate and never dictatorial. He owned his 
horses, coaches, drags, wagonettes, stables, as well as 
his house, and had an interest in an excellent hotel. Be- 
ginning life as a poor boy, he had reached the point 
where his own livery equipment included eighty head 
of horses and a corresponding number of vehicles and 
"helpers. Every Oxford student knew William Frank- 
lin and he knew many of them, frequently to his sor- 
row, for he has told me how many hundreds of 
pounds were " booked " against these students for 
drives to be paid for in the future, which future had 
never arrived. A real Christian, in bean and in pro- 
fession, without a drop of pagan blood in him, I shall 
ever revere his memory as that of one of the best of 
men and the most delightful of companions for our 
first three successive coaching seasons. 

But to return to the turnouts. The heavy, lum- 
"bering, leading coaches — " the drags " as Mr. Frank- 
lin always spoke of them — on one of which I rode 
'with 'him so manv hundreds of miles, had cost him 



12 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

some £300 each, and his horses not less than from 
£100 to £150 apiece more, so that £800 would not more 
than cover the value of the head display he personally 
held whip over, when he took up the reins of his double 
team of hays and, leading the other drags and brakes,, 
pointed the way toward Banbury, Streatley, Wantage, 
or Aylesbury. Everything" must be solid in Great 
Britain; even horses are sometimes valued by the 
size of their feet, and men by the rigidity of their hats. 
As our coaches lumbered along I wondered if Mother 
Earth would not shake beneath their tread. But she 
was solid, too. The Mint-bed road laughed at us as we 
passed over it to the sound of many voices and the 
crack of the whip, but the birds must have taken 
flight and ran away, for on this first afternoon there 
was not a living voice from the sky or from the land,, 
for the first three-quarter hour of our journey, except 
as we made merriment on the coach-top. 







lUike of Marlborough' s Palace, Blenheim. 



II.— WOODSTOCK AND FAIR ROSAMOND. 



THE PARTY being seated on all the vehicles, 
after we had climbed up the stepladder, and the 
ladder removed, the horn on the front coach 
merrily sounded, the long whips cracked, and we put 
off headed south, west or east, at a spanking pace. In 
a few minutes Oxford would be left behind, and 
horses and riders would be sniffing the fresh morning 
air of the timothy-scented fields. It was 

" Away and aho: 
And onward we go! 
With daring of knights 
And up and down heights, 
While bugles would blow 
Right merrily O!" 

But ere we really get away on the first start, let me 
add a word as to other drivers and helpers beside the 
chief. Mr. Franklin invariably took as driver of his 
second coach his eldest son, Fred, a frank and quiet- 
mannered voung married man, and, for a third coach, 



M 



r.ItH4HT DAYS IN MERRIB ENGLAND 



an American citizen of humorous ways, known as Mr. 
R. Mr. R. had somehow got into the University cur- 
rent abroad, without caring' to " practice " in its in- 
tellectual fields, and had now chosen a life of quiet 
indolence in the town, intermingled with an occasion- 
ally tendered and accepted aid to Mr. Franklin. He 




The Four Coachmen, 



was always a puzzle, because he had the education of 
a scholar and the practices of a coachman. He de- 
lighted in nothing more in this mundane sphere, as he 
himself acknowledged, than to put on a hightop beav- 
er and a long linen ulster, take the four reins in one 
hand and the whip in the other, and then drive his fel- 



WOODSTOCK AND FAIR ROSAMOND 15 




5* 

2 



!6 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

low -countrymen up hill and down valley for a week or 
ten days, completing' the circuit again at Oxford. He 
had a fairly large income regularly mailed to him from 
the States, and spent it no one knew how. He had 
grit and backbone enough to push away obstacles — 
obstreperous landlords, for example, who had forbid- 
den the crossing of their estates, when not even our 
chief himself was disposed to fight about it. Once 
or twice when a fourth coach was required, the driver 
was a large fellow, a caricature of whom would not 
make it possible to deceive anybody as to his iden- 
tity. His name was Foster; his voice was in the 
soles of his boots, and his wit was nearly that of an 
Irishman. He looked the John Bull from head to 
foot. When you sat beside him his conversation was 
a diluted edition of Mark Twain, not too sage and 
unspeakably funny. I was always sorry when Foster 
was not along to aid in tickling our funny bones. 

If Oxford is about to be left behind without a 
single word being said of it as an old or as a new city, 
as a university centre, or as associated with the youth- 
ful days of more great men than any other place in the 
whole wide world, there is reason in such madness. 
It rained so hard when starting on our first tour from 
this point that we could neither see the place to ad- 
vantage nor appreciate what we did see. So we took 
no time to look at it. We had left London in the 
morning at nine, and now at twelve, noon, were al- 
ready on the road leaving Oxford behind. At other 
times, of course, I have visited the city, when the sun 
in the heavens poured its rays straight down on Mag- 
dalen's tower and the clear bosom of the Isis, and 
when that period in the narrative arrives Oxford shall 
have its opportunity. 

And so the procession is off. Off in the rain! 



WOODSTOCK AND FAIR ROSAMOND 



■7 



But English rain don't count. That is, it holds up 
every now and then. Besides, nobody cares. And 




Upon th 



this day it soon gave us a chance to breathe freely 
and to enjoy things, because it was not to last. We 
started out with colors flying at every gib. I do not 



18 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

believe in flaunting one's national flag in the faces of 
foreign peoples, even if they are our own cousins, ex- 
cept where occasion demands or will pardon it. Some 
thought, however, it might be pardoned this time, 
for we were all green at the business of traveling in 
such style through mid-England. It seemed to suit 
our pride and injure no one to " hurrah " for Jona- 
than. We ought to have had John Bull's flag at the 
front and the Stars and Stripes at the rear, but we 
didn't. However, I think after the first day or two we 
were sensible and prudent, while always remaining 
patriotic, and only showed our colors to the public 
when we desired to make an impression and when it 
could not possibly offend. 

Due east of Oxford is a near range of hills, rising 
at the highest point to an elevation of five hundred 
and sixty feet. To the northwest of the city is anoth-, 
er range, which is more extensive and is known as 
the Chiltern Hills. All the latter was once a forest, 
and as the soil is limestone and chalk, there is no diffi- 
culty in maintaining the best of roads, or in giving - us 
knowledge of where marble quarries were once in 
abundance. We found the roads always extraordi- 
narily good — as perfect, for example, as in our own 
Central Park in New York, and so they continued 
to the end of every summer's adventure. It was one 
of the northerly roads upon which we first tried the 
metal of our horses and made a " short " run of eight 
miles — to Woodstock. There not being a flaw on the 
king's highway, we covered this distance in about 
forty-five minutes. I think in that time the horses 
never broke from their easy gait, or slowed down 
once to take breath. Before reaching Woodstock we 
passed, for perhaps a mile or more, through land be- 
longing to the big estates of the Duke of Marl- 



WOODSTOCK AND FAIE ROSAMOND rg 

borough. We could not sec the palace of his lord- 
ship, but we could see sonic of the trees and land. 
They were just like those of any other less titled land- 
owner. At Woodstock, with its seven thousand peo- 
ple, (for the life of me I could not believe the popula- 
tion was a quarter so great, but the guide book de- 
clares it), we put up at the "Hear" hotel, in order 
to take possession of a pre-arranged luncheon. A good 
luncheon, first-rate and bountiful. " Blenheim," 
which is what the young Duke still calls the splendid 
old palace of his ancestors, we supposed we could en- 
ter. For it was so near the " Bear" hotel; ten min- 
utes at the most; why not? Was not his wife an Amer- 
ican lady? There was, however, one lion in the way. 
The Duke was not " in town." In other words he 
was not in London, but was at Woodstock, and 
" Strangers not allowed " was the notice before the 
palace. It was a disappointment. We saw it later, 
but now we moved on. 

Yet how can we move on and seem to treat 
Woodstock so lightly? Let us think of the locality 
for a moment. W'as there not a fairer palace here 
than Blenheim back in the days of chivalry, five hun- 
dred years before the elder, the great Duke of Marl- 
borough, was ever thought of? True, the precise lo- 
cality of that palace is now only a spot to be pointed 
out by two old sycamore trees, but how much they 
would tell if they could speak: or, if they are too 
young, if only the ground beneath them would un- 
bosom itself of the secrets of the strange and far-away 
days of the early Henrys! It is over nine hundred 
years ago since King JEthelred held one of his great 
councils at Woodstock, and it must have been a prom- 
inent place when, a hundred years earlier. Alfred the 
Great quietly sat down in seclusion on this same pal- 



BRIGHT HAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

ace site and translated the '" Consolations " i" De Con- 
solatione Philosophise") of Boetius. That one picture 
alone, in the retrospect oi the ages, is worth all the 
images of knightly beauty which come afterward into 
the chiaro-oscuro of the imagination, as one dreams 
of history on this memorable ground. Think of Al- 
fred the Good, — later, the Great — retiring from scenes 
of conquest, from hard-handed toil and vigorous 
making of laws, to set an example for his successors 
in the kingly office, which few have followed half so 
well since, and quietly translating into Anglo-Saxon 
the philosophy of a Roman consul, written within 
prison walls half a millenium before! The work chos- 
en to be translated shows the great and discerning 
mind of this wise king, treating of the knowledge and 
goodness oi God. and the consolations to be derived 
from human beings who are possessed of them. 

Woodstock, written then " Vudestoc " (woody 
placet was a royal demesne: a retreat in the centre of 
the country, where those who wore the crown delight- 
ed to retire and carry on their pleasures. We know 
little of it in Alfred's day. but it comes clearly into 
history about 1123 in the days of Henry I., when that 
monarch moved his court to this already venerable lo- 
cation, made a royal menagerie on the grounds and 
brought his court thither. From that time to the later 
time of the first Duchess of Marlborough. (1714V 
when the old palace was in ruins and she pulled down 
its walls and Blenheim was erected near by. it has had 
an almost continuous royal history. And what a his- 
tory! Six hundred years of splendor, license, ro- 
mance, legend: of intrigues, tournaments, jousts, wed- 
dings: of meetings of parliaments: of visits by no- 
bles, by statesmen, by the clergy, by poets: of laby- 
rinths, mazes, gardens, fishponds, deerfolds, forests: 



WOODSTOCK AM» FAIB ROSAMOND 21 

of imprisonments, wars, periods of peace. Rosamond. 
Is there any palace in English history, past <:r pres- 
ent, which can draw as deeply upon the imagination. 
< ir awaken so curious a medley of reminiscences as 
this? When Henry I. rode out to his deerfold with 
the Bishops of London and Salisbury, and the Bishop 
of London exclaimed, while conversing with his royal 
master. ** Lord King. I die." and fell speechless, the 
rious history of Woodstock began, and it ended 
not for a single decade until the three persons ap- 
pointed by Cromwell to take charge of the property 
hrst profaned it and partially pulled it down. Then 
its use for royal purposes ceased. But even in the 
days of Charles II. it was great enough to be placed 
in charge of the wicked Earl of Rochester. He it was 
who inscribed upon the door of the king's bedcham- 
ber the oft-quoted lines upon his sovereign: 

" Here lies our sovereign lord the King, 
Whose word no man relies on; 
He never says a foolish thing, 
Nor ever does a wise one." 

Henry I. loved Woodstock and made it glorious. Hen- 
ry II. loved it also, but he loved Rosamond better. 

And who was Rosamond? She was second daugh- 
ter of Lord Clifford and a nun at Godstow. Hen- 
ry II. won her over from her religious ways and 
brought her to Woodstock, but his Queen, herself of 
none the best reputation, would not brook the beau- 
tiful nun near her. and so the King built his famous 
maze, with underground vaults of brick, and pass g - 
running hither and thither in all directions. By 

samond, Henry had two sons. Longspe. Earl of 
Saram, and Geoffrey. Archbishop of York. It is one 
of the much disputed points oi history how Rosamond 
came to her death, but that did not occur quickly: 



22 BRIGHT DAYS IX MEBRIE ENGLAND 

she and the King- lived long together, even after he 
imprisoned Eleanor. Holinshed said the Queen 
found Rosamond in .the garden by following a silken 
thread, which had been attached to the King at the 
one end, and to the hiding place at the other, " and 
dealt with her in such sharpe and cruell wise that she 
lived not long after." In a popular ballad it is said the 




An English Garden. 



clue was gained by surprise from the knight, who was 
left to guard the bower. A tradition of how the 
Queen compassed her death has this pathetic account 
of the King's seeing the body when about to be buried 
at Godstow. He fell into a long swoon; then vowed 
vengeance tor the "horrid felony;" then fervently 
prayed: " May the sweet God, who abides in Trinity, 



WOODSTOCK AND FAIB ROSAMOND 

on the soul of sweet Rosamond have mercy, and may 
I [e pardon her all her misdeeds; very God Almighty, 
Thou who art the end and the beginning - , suffer not 
now that this soul shall in horrible torment come to 
perish, and grant unto her true remission for all her 
sins, for Thy great mercy's sake." The old familiar 
ballad, of course, follows the tradition that the Queen 
pi iisi med her: 

" But nothing could this furious Queen 
Therewith appeased bee: 
The cup of deadlye poysen stronge 
As she knelt on her knee, 

" She gave this comelye dame to drinke; 
Who took it in her hand. 
And from her bended knee arose, 
And on her feet did stand. 

" And casting up her eyes to heaven, 
She did for mercye calle; 
And drinking up the poysen stronge, 
Her life she lost withalle." 

Rosamond was buried in the middle of the choir of 
the nunnery of Godstow, where her body remained 
fourteen years, when 1 1 ugh, Bishop of Lincoln, caused 
it t< i be removed as not worthy of the society of the 
nuns. But the nuns had so much esteem for her that 
they reinterred her bones in the chapterhouse, and 
it is said the}' remained there some four hundred years, 
when, in Henry VIII. 's time, the leaden case was 
opened, within which the bones were found wrapped 
in leather, and " when it was opened a very sweet 
smell came out of it." One of the lines on her tomb 
said : 

" This tomb doth here enclose 
The World's most beauteous rose." 

But Rosamond did not complete Woodstock's ro- 



24 BRIGHT DAYS IX MEKRIE ENGLAND 

mantic history. Henry III. had many a good day 
Iiere, and came near being' assassinated while in bed. 
Here he entertained Alexander, King of Scotland. 
Edward I. had his parliaments meet here at least twice, 
and when Edward, the famed Black Prince, first saw 
light within the palace walls, his birth was celebrated 
by jousts and tournaments. If Chaucer's residence on 
this ground is disputed, at least we know that his son 
received the Manor of Woodstock as a gi.'t from Hen- 
ry IV. From Richard II. to Elizabeth it continued to 
be a favorite residence, and Henry VII. was the king 
to add to it and put up its new principal gate. We 
know that Queen Elizabeth was a prisoner at Wood- 
stock before she came to the throne, and wrote in 
charcoal on the window shutter the lines: 

" Oh, Fortune, how thy restless, wavering state 
Hath fraught w.th cares my troubled witt, 
Wittness this present prysoner, whether Fate 

Could hear me and the Joys I quitt: 
Thou causest the guiltie to be loosed 
From bands wherein an innocent's inclosed, 
Causing the guiltless to be straight reserved, 
And those that death well deserved. 
But by her Malice can be nothing wroughte, 
So God send to my foes all they have thoughte." 
" Anno Dom. 1555. —ELIZABETH, Prisoner." 

"When Sarah, wife of the first great Duke of Marlbor- 
ough, pulled down Elizabeth's room, with its roof of 
Irish oak, " curiously carved and dight with blue and 
gold," she almost committed a crime; for to-day 
what would not the sentimentalist and lover of an- 
tiquities give if only the ivy-clad ruins of Woodstock 
remained, the same which a traveler in 1634 reports 
as " ancient, strong, large and magnificent, . . . 
sweet, delightful and sumptuous, and scytuated on 
a favre Hill." But Blenheim was to succeed Wood- 
stock. And so one observes the order of things in 



WOODSTOCK AND IWIIt ROSAMOND 25 

this world. The ancient old (if the reader will pardon 
the paradox) must pass away; the new old comes 
to the front. And the present palace, if not wholly 
a success, is large and comfortable, its grounds are 
stately, and it is the home of a handsome young Duke 
.and a still handsomer American ladv. 





An English Gateway. 



-BANBURY CROSS TO STRATFORD-ON- 
AVON. 



T 



o 



" Ride a cock-horse 
To Banbury Cross,' 



"has been the delight of every child in English-speak- 
ing Christendom. We had sixteen " cock-horses," 
that is to say, prime, noble horses, behind which to 
" ride to Banbury Cross," which is located due north 
of Woodstock, about fifteen miles. The previous 
eight-mile pull up a gradual ascent from Oxford to 
Woodstock had been slightly ugly on the breath of 
our animals, yet they had come in there to the " Bear " 
in fine feather. But a fifteen-mile jump over those 
up-and-down Chiltern Hills was not all play. It was 
downright work, as even the choicest of our bays 
found out by the time they reached Deddington. I 
think it was at that queer, dead-and-buried looking 
"hamlet called Deddington, where we had our first ex- 
perience of attracting the attention of every man, 
-woman and child in the town, and of observing that 



BANBURY TO STRATFORD 27 

the smallest of villages could sometimes turn out idle 
boys and girls in greater profusion than the larger 
cities. 

We saw on the way the various interesting 
sights that are so characteristic of English scenery in 
this section. In the fields, the sheepfolds; those small 
enclosures, usually of wood, which can be moved from 
field to field as occasion may require, in which the 
sheep are penned for the night. In Palestine these 
folds are permanent and of stone, but wooden ones 
are better adapted to local methods of sheep-pastur- 
ing. The sheep we saw seemed to be Southdowns, 
with black legs and black muzzles, and they were fat 
and chubby, exactly like those which make such enor- 
mously large and amazingly sweet mutton chops, that 
are the delight of innkeepers and hungry travelers. 
English thistles were here and there; was it because 
of the nature of the soil, or the carelessness of the 
landowners? Wheat fields were gorgeous with scar- 
let poppies; a sight never vouchsafed to us in the 
States, but common in Western Europe. No other 
(lower in the whole land, save the yellow furze, is so 
show_\- to the eye as this when among the harvest 
blades. ( )nce in a while these poppies were found cul- 
tivated by themselves; like red sunsets dropped down 
upon the earth and visible all the day long. Pear 
and apricot trees were trailing over stone walls, 
like grapevines, or like tendrils of ivy. and everywhere 
by the roadside were the bird's-eyes and the daisies, 
so modest and yet so queenly, that we learned to love 
■them quite as well as the more lordly roses before the 
porches of the poor and the humble. Even those 
beautiful weeds, the yellow charlocks, and the plain, 
but luscious grasses, so tall and so fragrant, were as 
honev to our newborn senses of smell and sight. 



28 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

Dear old England, there never can be a day passed 
within the boundaries of Oxfordshire and its neigh- 
boring counties, when the eye may not see noble 
parks, delightful meadows, peaceful streams, happy 
flocks, abundant harvests, sweet smelling flowers; 
whole vistas and visions, which are the products of a. 
rich world, well-tilled, the gifts of Nature when she 
is well caressed. 

It would be of considerable interest could we know 
how Banbury got its name. But as that is lost in the- 
obscurity of Roman days, I at least made the effort 
to know about the " Cross." But first as to those fa- 
mous " J '.anbury cakes," which have tickled the pal- 
ates of generations of Englishmen. When in the even- 
ing we drove up an exceedingly quaint street to the 
" Red Lion " hotel, and found a rain was about to set 
in, there was naturally the usual desire for a hot sup- 
per, and with it a special wish that " Banbury cakes " 
should not be missing from the bill of fare. Perhaps 
they would have been absent, as we had an abundance 
without them — cold fowl, cold salmon, cold tongue 
and ham, cold beef, good salad, bread actually cut 
thin and buttered, and other things beside; but a 
preferred request brought the " cakes," and their rep- 
utation did not overshadow their supreme excellence. 
How could muffins — which they are — be any better? 
And yet what in the world could have made it a mat- 
ter of history that they produced melancholy? Were 
they once so leaden? Or has the modern English 
bread become so much worse in ponderosity of 
weightiness that now we imagine the cakes a deli- 
cacy? It was over three centuries ago, in 1586, in a 
" Treatise on Melancholia," when we first learn that 
Banberrie cakes " give " plentie of melancholic" If 
so, could Shakespeare have allowed his Anne to make 



BANBURY TO STRATFORD j,, 

them more frequently than once a year? Or were 
they not made outside of Banbury itself? Anyhow, 
he had plenty of zest and lightness, pungency and hu- 
mor, so that such cakes could not have troubled him. 
I like in this connection to read what " rare Ben Jon- 
son *' says in his " Bartholomew Fair" about these 
cakes. Speaking of a certain Banbury man, lie wrote 
in this quaint way: "He was a baker — but he does 
dream now, and sees visions: he lias given over his 
trade, out of a scruple he took that inspired confi- 
dence, those cakes he made were served in bridales, 
maypoles, morrises, and such profane feasts and meet- 
in.--." Perhaps " bridales " were " profane feasts." 
but the gods at the weddings would always have 
raised up their eyes and said thanks when these cakes 
came before them, had they been of as good quality as 
we had at the inn, 

In Banbury all is life. With the famous Cross as 
the centre, streets radiate in several directions, full of 
gooa-looking shops and bright-eyed lassies serving 
within. Banburv may have an odd name, but it is 
a wide-awake spot for a' that. I say famous Cross, but. 
alas! the old is gone; the new is startlingly new and 
to that extent disappointing. The old antedated the 
reign of Good Queen Bess and it marked one of the 
resting places of the body of Queen Eleanor, on its 
way to London. Erected soon after 1290, it was 
destroyed in the Cromwellian times by " the fury of 
the Puritans." Its location was in the market-place, a 
short distance away from the present one, which i- 
not a " Cross " at all, but a monument. This one dates 
only from 1858. It is fifty feet high and of admirable 
form, set on a high pedestal. When I saw it, I 
thought only of its ancient predecessor, for therein lay 
all its story and its glory. Three hundred and fifty 



30 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



and some years did that old Cross stand, and what it 
saw no writer now, had he the pen of an angel, could 
portray. From Eleanor to Cromwell: why, England 
saw all the heights and depths of greatness and mis- 
ery during just those fateful centuries. 




riw Cross at Banbury. 



I >ld I '.anbury Castle was more ancient than the 
Cross by a hundred and thirty years, but so little of 
it is now to be seen, that to view even one of the walls 
you must examine closely the foundations of a mod- 
ern cottage. The romances of that Castle and the 
Cross are inseparably interwoven in the nursery 



BANBURY TO STIiATKuilH 



31 



rhyme, ** To see a white lady ride on a white horse;" 
for she was none other than the maiden, 

" As fair as the rosy morning, 
As fresh as the sparkling dew, 
And her face as bright as the star-lit night, 
\\ ith its smiles and blooming hue," 

whom the brave knight. Lord Herbert, diseovered 
living- in the Castle, and dreamed of both day and 
night. He called a feast and when she came, there 
also came a rival, with whom the voting knight nearly 
lost his life. The rival proved to be the lady's broth- 
er. The lady, Matilda, nursed the young knight, but 
he was sinking. In the Castle lived a holy monk, who 
offered this prescription to her, as she, too, was in fail- 
ing spirits over her probable loss: 

" To-morrow, at the midnight hour 
Go to the Cross alone; 
For Edward's rash and hasty deed 
rerchance thou may'st atone." 

She went and walked around it. The knight wa.- 
cured. And now — 

" Upon a milkwhite steed, 

A lady doth appear; 
By all she's welcomed lustily, 

In one tremendous cheer. 
With rings of brilliant lustre. 

Her fingers are bedeck'd, 
And bells upon her palfrey hunp 

To give the whole effect. 

" And even in the present time, 

The custom's not forgot, 
But few there are who know the tale 

Connected with the spot; 
Though to each baby in the land 

The nursery rhymes are told. 
About the lady robed in white 

And Banbury Cross of old." 



3- 5 



BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 



The two chief antiquities of Banbury, after the 
Cross and the cakes, are- the " Red Lion " hotel 
and " ye olde Reindeer Inn." I slept in the front 
room of the " Red Lion," directly by the old lion him- 
self; one could raise the twelve-paned window and 
pat the harmless animal on his well-shaped back. He 
had just had a fresh coat of vermillion, and that 
scarcely made him look less ferocious in the dim 




Red Lion Hotel, Banbury. 



moonlight at the hour of twelve. His tail stood out, 
with its upward sweep, his head was held high aloft, 
and his shaggy mane was flowing. I fancied later in 
the night that his roar was so vociferous and deep 
that it could be heard in Oxford, almost twenty-five 
miles away. Somehow it brought back childhood tales 
and childhood dread to sleep so near to that old king 
of the forest. The hotel is a two-story, ramshackle 



BANBURY TO STRATFORD 33 

affair, located directly on the sidewalk, but with good 
beds and appetizing meals. 1 am not sure how many 
hundred years old the inn is, hut perhaps it goes back 
to as old a date as that of " The George " at Winches- 
ter, and that antedates Columbus. The " Reindeer 
Inn " is a smaller, and even less pretentious insti- 
tution, with a queer yard and gateway, and has an 
old dining hall of the reign of Henry VII. The pro- 
prietor gets his sixpence for showing this room, be- 
cause the tradition of the place connects it with the 
council of war held by Cromwell on the evening pre- 
ceding the battle of Edgehill, in 1642, although at that 
time he was not in command of the Parliamentary 
army. It has wooden panels at the sides and an odd 
ceiling of curious figures on white plaster. As a quaint 
building, however, there is one other old structure in 
the town, which is probably as ancient and I think is 
more quaint than this inn, and that is " The Original 
Cake Shop." It will bear a visit, both inside and out. 
There was a Priory of St. John the Baptist, which ex- 
isted at Reading as early as 1209, and the present 
convent of that name forms a portion of the original 
building. And near it is a " Bear Garden," an ex- 
cavation now, where bait-baiting was formerly in 
vogue. Such spots are for the curious; they are rare- 
ly looked up by any traveler who is in a hurry. 

It is about nineteen miles from Banbury to Strat- 
ford-on-Avon in a northwesterly direction, and it is 
up, and up, and up, for the greater part of the way; 
or it seems so, for an hour or two of time is spent at 
the start in getting to and then across Edgehill, and 
then it is a long pull to Batington; after which there 
is a level country to Stratford. On another occasion 
we reversed this route and came into Banbury by 
Kineton. It was a more interesting drive, but it 

3 



34 BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

would have been killing to the horses to have clam- 
bered up that steepest part of Edgehill with fourteen 
persons on each drag. We took the wiser route in each 
direction. 

Edgehill battlefield can be seen to perfection from 
either point of view. It is in a magnificent plain. On 
the hillsides, to the east and south of it, the Parlia- 
mentary troops on that memorable Sunday morning, 




Oliver Cromwell. 

the twenty-third of October, 1642, first encountered 
the forces of Charles I. in drawn battle. Charles led 
his army in person, his general of horse being Prince 
Rupert. The Earl of Essex led the troops of the 
rebels. Cromwell, said to have been present at the 
Council of War the night before at Banbury, was 
not yet in the lead; it was two years later before he 
became chief. It is thought bv some that he was not 



BANBURY TO STRATFORD 35 

in the Edgehill battle at all, but in the vicinity. Car- 
lyle says he was present as the " Captain of Troop 
Sixty-seven." and he must be correct. The famous 
Essex was there, as was the King. The King had his 
black velvet mantle over his armor and wore his Star 
and Garter. His regiments were on the top of Edge- 
hill, with the full vista of the valley below him. The 
royal flag floated out on the clear morning air. The 
army of Essex was moving in the valley below Kine- 
ton. Charles had the larger body of troops and he de- 
termined to engage the enemy, though his artillery 
was in the rear a day's march. He addressed his 
troops. He said he loved his kingdom, " derived from 
God, whose substitute and supreme governor under 
Christ I am." Those were not considered blasphem- 
ous words in Puritan days. It took until two o'clock 
to begin the march downhill. The footguards were 
first, with the Earl of Lindsey, bearing a pike, in com- 
mand. His major-general was Sir Jacob Astley, 
whose famous prayer before the charge has gone into 
history: " O Lord, thou knowest how busy I must 
be this day; if I forget Thee, do not Thou forget me." 
Then came his " March on, boys," and down toward 
the valley they swooped, with the yell of triumph. But 
they had to halt, for Essex gave them hot shot, and 
for an hour the fighting went on bravely on land now 
called the Thistle and Battle farms. Rupert and his 
cavalry had great success and pursued the enemy into 
Kineton, and began to plunder their baggage wagons. 
But the foot and horse of Essex pressed sore on the 
King's foot and took the royal standard. The brave 
old Earl of Lindsey was made a prisoner, when mor- 
tally wounded, and his son also. Royalists of high 
blood were one by one slain. Charles and a few noble- 
men stood their ground well, within half musket shot 



36 BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

of the men of Essex, but the day was neither won nor 
lost. Night grew on, and each party held their field. 
In the morning, Charles had four thousand men as 
reinforcements. But he did not dare press a new bat- 
tle, and each army withdrew from the other. There 
is now a tower, erected a hundred and fifty years ago, 
to mark the spot where the centre of King Charles' 
army was posted on that trying day. A clump of firs 
shows where five hundred brave men were buried. 
Not another sign can be pointed to, by which to trace 
the exact locations of events, always thereafter mem- 
orable because they were the first tragic ones on the 
threshold of a long, cruel and far-reaching strife be- 
tween brothers of the same land and blood. I like 
best to think of one witness of that battle, Richard 
Baxter, lie was there preaching the Gospel to the 
soldiers. He says he saw a thousand dead men on the 
battlefield, and he naively adds: ''I knew not what 
course to take. I had neither money nor friends; I 
knew not who would receive me in any place of safe- 
ty." And he went off visiting to Coventry, expecting 
the war would be over in a "very few days or weeks!" 

It is true the battle of Edgehill did not decide 
much in itself, but Oliver Cromwell there made the 
discovery that was of the greatest significance. He 
saw that men of character and piety would be needed 
to fight for their country to obtain victory, and not 
merely " a set of poor tapsters " and " town appren- 
tices." In consequence he raised the Ironsides who 
were never beaten. They went praying and singing 
into battle, and their psalms were intermingled with 
the noises of battle-axes. 

The view from the summit of Edgehill is a remark- 
able one, provided you have clear weather for it, and 
it is said to extend into fourteen counties. We saw 



BANBURY T<> STRATFORD 



37 



it when it was clear and cool, and when there was not 
a sound on the earth or in the sky save the occasional 
song of a bird, thanking its Maker for the mere pleas- 
ure of existence. 

The town of Sulgrave is only ten miles to the 
east, but it is nearer to Banbury. That small hamlet 
contains the ancestral home of the Washington fam- 




Sulgrave Manor— Ancestral Home of Washington. 



ily, who lived at the Manor House in the Sixteenth 
Century. In the porch are two shields bearing the 
arms of the Washingtons. In the church a tablet has 
been erected to Lawrence Washington and his wife, 
who are buried there. This tablet was erected in 1890 
by the representatives of the family, but the church 
also contains more ancient slabs to the memory of 
the same couple, which were mutilated by two stran- 



38 BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

gers in i88q. Lawrence Washington above mentioned 
was Mayor of Northampton 1532 and 1545. We were 
unable to go to Sulgrave, but a visit should be paid 
to it from Banbury by Americans, whose patriotism 
is strong enough to lead them to take a little pains 
thus to display it. 

There is nothing of special interest after Edgehill 
until the tall spire of the church on the Avon comes 
into the landscape: then we feel we are approaching 
the ground where was the home, and which still holds 
the bones, of the immortal Shakespeare. We reined 
up before the " Red Horse " hotel in fine spirits and 
with an American flag at the forefront of each of our 
four coaches. As said before, one ought not to rlaunt 
the flag of his country, though it is the most beaiti'ul 
in the whole wide world, in the faces of the peoples of 
other lands, simply because he sits high up on a 
coach, where no one can molest, nor make him afraid. 
But surely this town of Stratford-on-Avon is an ex- 
ception, if any there be. It is the focus for all Amer- 
icans who go to England, and it is made what it is alto- 
gether by the tribute we pay to the " bard of Avon." 
England never discovered Stratford; Washington Irv- 
ing did. The Child's Fountain supplies its beasts of 
burden with drink, and our own tourists fill the hotels 
and shop coffers with money. At all events here we 
hoisted the flag, and it was a welcome sight alike to 
the trades-people and to the proprietor of the " Red 
Horse," Mr. William G. Colbourne. Mr. Colbourne, 
by the way, is the son of the very same innkeeper 
who took such good care of the first real throng of 
travelers which set in to visit Stratford during the 
'Fifties and 'Sixties, after Irving's " Sketchbook" and 
his other writings had been gathered into a set by the 
Putnams, and a quarter of a million copies of them 



BANBl'KY TO STRATFORD 39 

had been put. into the hands of Irving's countrymen. 
No one has gone to England since his day, who did 
not, if he could, look attentively at the " Red Horse," 
in case he did not rest himself within its walls. The 
history of this old hostlery is exceedingly interesting 
to Americans, because Irving actually wrote so much 
of his " Sketch Book " in the small front room to the 
left of the entrance-driveway, and for the past cen- 
tury this fact has attracted to it visitors from every 
quarter of the globe. The proprietor of the Red 
Horse in Irving's day was Hon. Isaac Gardner, who 
owned the house from 1810 to 1835. This Isaac 
Gardner was Mayor of the town for a portion of that 
period. Previously it was owned by his brother, John 
S. Gardner, who inherited it from his uncle John 
Gardner, in 1793, and it is believed to have been in 
the Gardner family for upward of two hundred years. 
A deed in the possession of the present proprietor 
shows that it was called the " Red Horse " at least 
as early as 1692. Hon. Isaac Gardner was succeeded 
by his nephew, John Gardner, in 1835, and, in 1873, 
it came by will into the hands of the present owner, 
Mr. Colbourne. A true son of the soil Mr. Colbourne 
is; intelligent about his business and every inch a 
gentleman. His wife, also, is pure gold. The two 
treat their guests as if they were wholly welcome, and, 
when you once know them, they are friends rather 
than landlords. My visits with them have always 
been fragrant and memorable. 

Dismounting on the street, the coaches were 
drawn through the arch under the hotel to the rear 
yard. And while we are there in that yard, it will not 
be amiss to step through it and across a narrow street 
into an enclosure. One would not suspect a garden 
within that almost ten-feet-high green fence, which 



40 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

tightly shuts out all view. Why should this fence be 
needed to protect a garden? Ah! the small boy might 
get in. Be it so, but there is really not a garden there, 
as we understand the term. It is a velvet lawn, a 
whole acre of ground, as level as a table and green as 
a well-watered Eden. It is the bowling green, be- 
longing to the hotel, and an unusually charming spot. 
There Mr. Colbourne and his town friends meet daily 
and indulge in that favorite and old-fashioned English 
game. I have tried it, but not with much success. It 
requires plenty of practice, a straight eye, and a sure 
arm. 

Number — (I better not give away the charmed 
figures) is the room usually assigned to that genial 
" modern Irving," of whom I have hitherto spoken, 
and who has written so many chapters on Stratford 
in that particular house, and who must have dreamed 
them over first in that particular room. It has so hap- 
pened that I have been assigned to it on at least three 
occasions when coaching; not at my request, but be- 
cause the landlady was willing to please her guest 
with the thought of it. She knew I intensely admired 
"' Shakespeare's England " and its companion vol- 
umes. It overlooks the back roof and stableyard, 
and has no merit in it over other rooms; rather the 
demerit of being noisy in the morning, when the sta- 
ble boys are busy with brightening up horses and har- 
ness, and fixing the carts and coaches. I have dreamed 
good dreams there; was it the room, or the generous 
wealth of sentiment attaching to the " Red Horse " 
inn? No. 15 was Irving's bedroom. His "parlor" 
was on the first floor and is still a show room, contain- 
ing his chair, and letters and pictures of literary and 
other noted men, who have helped make the " Red 
Horse " famous. 



BANBURY TO STRATFORD 



41 



No one has now any business to describe Stratford- 
on-Avon anew. What Irving did not relate, what Win- 
ter has not since said, what a host of lesser writers have 
omitted to publish, can well remain unsaid, unre- 
peated, unsung. It seems like a libel on the dead 
and an impeachment of the intelligence of the living, 




Going into Shakespeare's Birthplai 



to add a word about the Shakespeare town. Still. I 
must repeat the words of an old and jolly English- 
man whom I met in an old inn almost opposite to 
the birthplace. He was taking his mug of beer, and I 
was questioning him as to his recollection of the house 
in his boyhood days: "'Member it," said he. " 0* 



42 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

course I 'member; when I was a b'y it was but a 
butcher shop. I bo't meat there many a time. Then 
some o' you Yankees began to come in and say it 
was a great place. I don't believe myself that Shakes- 
peare ever lived there; not much. The folks here 
don't. But you see now it brings us in a lot o' mon- 
ey." The old man was half right; half wrong. It 
does look a little from the published facts as if Mas- 
ter Will was in that house when a small boy — what is 
left of it. And there's the rub: what is left of it? As 
a museum it is quite a success, and since the death, or 
rather disappearance, of the two " nice old ladies " 
who used to take strangers around, and who had the 
one, same, staid and never-ending story to tell of each 
corner and beam, it has fallen into the charge of men 
well qualified by intelligence and courtesy to convey 
to strangers really interesting and not misleading in- 
formation. 

Perhaps the three things which to me have been 
of as much interest as anything else in the renovated 
birthplace, were Shakespeare's signet ring, certainly 
genuine; Thomas Carlyle's and Sir Walter Scott's 
autographs, cut by them on a pane of the glass win- 
dows; and last, not least, the lines of Washington Irv- 
ing in his own handwriting, written here, and now 
preserved in a small frame: 

" The house of Shakespeare's birth we here may see, 
That of his death we find without a trace, 
Vain the inquiry for Immortal He. 
Of mighty Shakespeare's birth the room we see, 
That where he died to find in vain we try, 
Useless the search, for, all Immortal He 
And those who are immortal never die! 

— W. I., second visit, October, 1821." 

The grounds behind the place, originally a yard and 
orchard, is laid out as a lawn and garden and planted 



BANBURY TO STRATFORD 43 

with nearly all the trees and flowers named in Shakes- 
peare's plays. Walking among them one may almost 
see Ophelia coming towards yon, greeting yon with 
the words: " There's rosemary, that's for remem- 
brance: . . . there is pansies. that's for thoughts. 
There's fennel for yon, and columbines. There's rue 
for you. . . . There's a daisy, I would give you 
smne violets; but they withered all. when my father 
■died." 

The Grammar School 1 believe to be authentic: a 
view of its interior should not be missed, as it cannot 
be much changed since Shakespeare's day. It is still 
in daily use as a parish school. The site of Xew Place 
is also a reality. There are a few old buildings on the 
main business street, which are curiosities of architec- 
ture and must be very ancient. Beyond this, and the 
newly purchased home of Marie Corelli, the popular 
authoress, the most interesting sight, and by far 
the chief sight of Stratford, is the tall-spired church 
•on the Avon: 

" Thou soft-Howing Avon, by the silver stream 

Of things more than mortal sweet Shakespeare would dream; 
The fairies by moonlight dance round his green bed, 
For hallow'd the turf is which pillow'd his head." 

The stream, the moonlight and the turf are all there, 
:and that well-known tall and exquisite spire. In the 
daytime, from the churchyard, the banks of the Avon 
and the sylvan stream form as peaceful a picture of 
•quiet beauty as is rarely seen. In the eventime. when 
the full moon is overhead and the reflections of the 
town lights are dancing on the rippling waters, it is 
the hour to row small boats along the stream's wind- 
ing ways, and then the whole atmosphere is one of 
dreamy enchantment. To see the Avon in its per- 
fection, one should stand on the opposite side of the 



44 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

river from the churchyard wall and view it and the 
splendid old edifice in one compact picture. It was 
a great mistake to attempt to " restore " the interior 
of this fine old church, by introducing new seats and 
making other changes; as much so as it would have 
been to have placed a new bust of Shakespeare within 
the chancel. But the vicar was determined, and 
" there was an end on't." The old people did not like 
it; the new did: and while the newspapers kept up a 
strife for a little while, it is now almost settled, and,, 
on the whole, no very serious damage has been done. 
At all events, the poet's bones were undisturbed, for 
which let us be truly thankful. 

Years and years ago — I must not say how many — 
I first found my way, quite alone, to Shottery. the lit- 
tle hamlet a mile and more away from Stratford. It 
was September. The summer atmosphere had not yet 
kissed the frost-lips of the fall — it does it later than in 
America, and sometimes not at all — and the berries of 
our July and the apples of our September were alike 
ripe for the picking. The day was an eternal benison 
of bounties dropped down from an immaculate sky 
above. Not a fleck in the azure blue, not a ripple in 
the sweet, pure air, save as now and then came the 
gentlest of breezes, which kissed barley top and daisy, 
as I walked out to the long, low cottage of Anne 
Hathaway. Somehow that cottage was more to me 
than the " birthplace," for here Shakespeare poured 
out the real tenderness and purity of his great, strong 
heart. Here he came to woo and to be wooed. Here 
he worshipped, as at some time or other all great and 
small men do, at the shrine of his dearest earthly god. 
How many times had the youthful poet gone this 
same road to Shottery! That it had special charms to- 
him during those walks, and while memory lasted, we 



BAXBIKY TO STRATFORD 



45 



can scarcely doubt, for he drank deeply of the chalice 
of love, and then everything- which a young man sees 




Anne Hathaway' s Cottage. 



(and especially if his nature be poetic) takes on silvery 
sheen and golden spangles. Burns loved the yellow 
primrose and the meek-eyed daisy for the sake of the 



46 BRIGHT DAYS IX MERBIE ENGLAND 

girl of his heart, and who can believe Shakespeare 
was the less the lover of Nature when he sought the 
hand of a country maid? 

In the " Midsummer Night's Dream," Titania tells 
the fairies to be kind to Bottom: 

" Be kind and courteous to this gentleman; 
Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes; 
Feed him with apricots and dewberries." 

Now it happens that the word " dewberries/' which 
we Americans understand so well to refer to the lar- 
gersized blackberries, growing on low bushes in moist 
places, has caused a world of trouble to Shakespeare's 
commentators. They sagely concluded long ago that 
they were gooseberries! William Howitt, in his de- 
lightful '* Visits to Remarkable Places," calls atten- 
tion to the fact that had these commentators gone to 
Stratford they would have discovered what " dewber- 
ries " were. I refer to this because, while walking to 
Shottery on the day in question, I plucked a single 
dewberry along the roadside and ate it. Others, 
though red, were ripening. I gathered some ferns and 
buttercups, but otherwise neither robbed the trees of 
fruit nor the ground of flowers. A little boy, who 
pulled from his pocket some curious star-pebbles and 
wished to sell them for a penny, led me to the Hatha- 
way Cottage. There it was, just as the pictures have 
represented it. Of stone, low storied, admirably 
thatched. Some other bushes, intermingling with 
hawthorn, helped to make up the road fence, and with- 
in the gate was an arbor of box, low and straggling. 
A honeysuckle twined over the end of a shed. I had 
no time on this first visit to enter, but I lingered at 
the gateway. Here, I thought, must have been the 
scene of many a greeting and parting; of kind words, 



BANBURY TO STRATFORD 47 

and, possibly, at times, misunderstandings; of merry 
laughter and oft-repeated kisses; of the recital of 
verses and humming over of now famous odes; of so 
much, in fact, of which history leaves us ignorant, 
that it may he as well to pause, to heave a sigh, and 
simply to thank heaven there was a Shakespeare. 

( hi this first coaching occasion and at various 
times since I have visited this old mansion of good 
Mrs. Baker, who until recently tended the roses in the 
garden and the boiling water in the kettle in the big 
fireplace of " the courting room." The great beams 
of the low ceiling, the old-fashioned chair in the cor- 
ner, the antique settle, and, upstairs, the carved bed- 
stead, bring Shakespeare a good deal nearer to one, 
I fancy, than any house in Stratford. Youthful days 
then, as now, were ardent ones, and happy memories 
of them become perennial charms. The Bard of Avon 
could never have forgotten in his after-life this hum- 
ble Hathaway home, and the lass who sat in its door- 
way at eventide, watching for his coming. There is 
no extant portrait, of which I am aware, of Anne 
Hathaway, but Shakespeare (perhaps) has treated it in 
no uncertain portraiture: 

" But were it to my fancy given 

To rate her charms, I'd call them heaven; 

For though a mortal made of clay, 

Angels must love Anne Hatheway; 

She hath a way so to control, 

To rapture the imprisoned soul, 

And sweetest heaven on earth display, 

That to be heaven Ann hath a way; 

She hath a way, 

Ann Hathaway, — 
To be heaven's self Ann hath a way." 

The same ivy and the same woodbine, the same roses 
and the same marigolds, were not there three hundred 



4 8 



BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE EXGLAXD 



and twenty odd years ago, but assuredly their pro- 
genitors were, and probably in the same rich and al- 
most exhaustless profusion. There were the same 
landscape views, the same hedgerow-bounded fields, 
the same kind of red poppies peeping out from among 
the stalks of wheat, the same species of linnets in the 
meadows and of skylarks in the gray sky. Mrs. Ba- 
ker, like her ancestral line of Hathaway blood, has 
gone at last to her rest, after four score years of life 
and over three score years of hospitable welcoming 
alike to tramps and travelers; but this homestead 
spot, of tenderest and sweetest memories for many an 
American, remains, and, let us hope, will outlive many 
of the centuries to come. 




^ c * > 




'The Birds were Plentiful:' 



IV.— "THE FINEST DRIVE IN THE KINGDOM." 



THERE are so many " finest drives in the King- 
dom," if one is to believe enthusiastic letter-writ- 
ers and book-makers, that we may well hesitate 
to say which is which, or what is what, especially after 
having been to Ventnor and its neighborhood, or on 
the Buttermere route at Keswick, or over into the 
region of Bettws-y-Coed. or in many another corner 
of " the Kingdom." However, as no less an authority 
than the greatest of American showmen has declared 
the road from Warwick to Coventry supreme, I con- 
cluded to give it an early trial and ascertain the truth 
for myself. To reach Warwick from Stratford there is 
a direct road of eight miles, all the way beautiful, but 
with no historic sites on the way. In the mere matter 
of pretty hedgerows and smooth roads, no prettier 
drive can be found than this. The birds were plentiful 
and carolling from every tree. And at Warwick \\ e 
put up at the " Woolpack," which seemed cheery and 
inviting within, as clean as a pin and as bright as a 



5 o BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

new penny. The barmaids were tidy, the supper 
even tidier, and everybody was happy. We had just 
time before sunset to walk to Sunset Hill, on the 
edge of the town and saw men and boys practising 
for a " tug of war " with a rope, for a performance to 
be given next day at a fair. County and local fairs are 
as thick in mid-England in summer as hawthorn 
blossoms in May, and would last as long if some of the 
people had their way. They do like fairs, and like to 
expend money at them for gimcracks. The Speaker 
of the House of Commons had his headquarters at 
the " Woolpack," and " the Speaker's room " the 
landlady seemed to be glad to exhibit to her guests. 

It may be doubtful if Warwick really can trace its 
history back, as claimed, to 50 A. D., but it gives plain 
evidence of antiquity in more ways than one. Curious 
old houses are everywhere, and some of the elderly 
inhabitants seem to have no doubts, judging from the 
mere looks of the unperpendicular external beams of 
their antique structures, that the legend is correct 
which so far anticipates history as to make the town 
date from " the time of Adam." The old town gates 
are thoroughly interesting, and the Leicester hospital 
is as quaint as any building I can remember seeing 
in Warwickshire. If the Saxon chair in it is a thou- 
sand years old, it is certainly younger than Warwick 
itself, whose name is known to belong to early Saxon 
times. I went into the museum in order to look at 
the Irish elk, which, with a copy of the Domesday 
Book, is one of its greatest curiosities, and I found 
that the ornithologists, paleontologists and mineralo- 
gists of the county had been wide-awake in uncover- 
ing me richness of the soil of past ages. The Domes- 
day Book was the inventory of the lands and estates 
of England, made for William the Conqueror just be- 



THE FINEST DRIVE IN THE KINGDOM 51 

fore the year 1086. The original copy lias always 
been preserved with the greatest care, first at \\ est- 
minster in London, and then in the Public Record 
Office, where it now is and may be seen by any one. 
There were several copies of it; whether duplicates 
made at the time of the original, or later, I have not 
seen stated. One of them is in the library of the 
cathedral of Exeter. The Warwick copy, however, 
we know to have been made in 18 10. 

Rubert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, who founded 
the hospital, was the owner of Kenilworth, and per- 
haps often attended church at St. Mary's at War- 
wick; certainly he is buried there, in the Beauchamp 
Chapel, and his monument gives rise to many strange 
reflections. But the chief tomb is that of the great 
Earl of Warwick, " the king-maker," who died ninety 
years before Dudley, and whose gilt figure on a bed 
of Purbeck stone is a genuine work of art. It is be- 
cause Walter Savage Landor was born and lived at 
Warwick that a bust of him occupies a niche at the 
front end of the church; his dust is in the cemetery 
in Florence. 

For a day, Warwick, with its twelve thousand peo- 
ple and with its thrifty air of business, intermixed 
with strange relics of past centuries, will afford as 
much pleasure to a hunter of historical relics as may 
be found north of London. This remark will also 
take into account the incomparable richness in pres- 
ent grandeur of the inhabited Castle on the banks of 
the Avon. The Avon makes many turns between 
Stratford and Warwick, as it does between Stratford 
and its junction with the noble Severn, toward the 
Western Sea, but nowhere does it seem more romantic 
than from certain windows of Warwick Castle; or, 
more accurately perhaps, from the public road over 



52 BRIGHT DAYS IX &IERRIE ENGLAND 

the bridge crossing the stream a quarter-mile off 
looking down at the Castle. The overarching trees 
and the deep, sharp shadows upon the soft bosom 
of the river make up a picture of fairyland, a scene 
our gentle Hawthorne greatly admired. The ap- 
proach into the Castle grounds has a kind of lordliness 
that is in itself memorable. That tremendously dark 
shade, as you pass through the heavy cutting in the 
sandstone rock, gives the impression that the Castle 
within must have been impregnable. When one 
emerges into the open again, and, passing the moat 
and the two great towers, Guy's Tower and Caesar's 
Tower, which have proudly stood guard there over 
six hundred years, comes into the enclosure where 
are the immense lawn and peacocks, and sees the 
Castle itself upon the left, the sensation is that of 
thrilling thankfulness at being permitted to view such 
a spectacle. Old and ruined castles, of course, one 
expects to see, but " real live ones," hardly. The 
uses of real castles most people think expired with 
the days of chivalry. A king or queen might have a 
few, but those of lesser lords are supposed to have 
been demolished, either by wars or the teeth of time. 
But the Earl of Warwick is now housed in a castle and 
the flag on the ramparts is much in evidence if you are 
in sight of his palatial residence. Some people are al- 
ways fond of being indoors, and to such the inner apart- 
ments have deepest interest. I like best, however, the 
great park without, with those statelv and matchless 
cedars of Lebanon, and the other gigantic trees, in 
the midst of which, in the conservatories, is the world- 
renowned Warwick Vase from Hadrian's villa at Tus- 
culum. Made in Greece about 390 B. C, it is of 
finest marble, six feet in diameter and with exquisite 
sculpturings; but even so one of those cedars would 



THE FINEST DRIVE IN THE KINGDOM 53 




54 BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

outweigh it in value if I could place either before my 
American door. To those who cannot go to the Leb- 
anon range in Northern Syria and see this prince of 
trees in his native home, I would urge that he go to 
Warwick Castle park and there view several, of beau- 
tiful proportions, full of dignity and majestic splendor. 

The Castle exhibitor, an old officer, is among the 
best of his kind and is always held in high esteem by 
the traveler for his good humor and good sense. The 
paintings are the main things shown and they would 
bring a large sum of money if placed in the open 
market, because Vandyke's and Holbein's works here 
rank among their best. There are also, notably, the 
often copied " Charles I. on Horseback," the " Mar- 
quis of Montrose " and Holbein's " Henry VIII." Ra- 
pnael, Rubens, iviurillo, del Sarto and David are repre- 
sented, and each subject has its interest. Those who 
wince at the shilling charged to see these paintings 
and the apartments should remember that it costs 
money and vexation to permit the public to enter a 
private mansion every-day, and, for one, I think the 
sight of the deathmask of Oliver Cromwell, not 
to speak of his battle helmet and high boots, is worth 
more than the sum asked for admission. Besides, 
Earls are not in these days keeping up large establish- 
ments of nine hundred and ninety-seven acres for fun, 
nor even marrying just for the sake of marital felicity. 
Pounds, shillings and pence are carefully rated in 
every Earl's private ledger, and then they usually 
come short of paying the butcher's bills. 

Speaking of this latter fact reminds me that there 
are comparatively few places shown to the public in 
Great Britain, where the sixpence or shilling is not 
required, while on the Continent nearly everything is 
free. Nevertheless I disagree with the numerous fault- 



THE FINEST DRIVE IN THE KINGDOM 55 

finders on the subject. It takes money, keepers and 
patience to keep up castles, abbeys and cathedrals. 
They might, when ruined, be put to other profitable 
uses, for their stones make elegant building material, 
and their closes and surroundings take up acres upon 
acres of soil which could produce wheat and barley. 
Not all the natives are aesthetic. The Continent does 
not have these storied ruins and hence does not have 
to meet the question of their support. It is all right 
to maintain them and we desire them to do it well, 
and. therefore, it is proper to charge a moderate ad- 
mission fee to " coachers " and to poachers of every 
kind. 

Leaving now this spot where Robert Neville, for 
such was the name of the really great Earl of War- 
wick', made and unmade kings, " the fairest monu- 
ment," according to Sir Walter Scott, " to ancient 
and chivalrous splendor which yet remains untouched 
by time," we turned our horses sharply to the left to 
make the northerly short cut by Guy's Cliff to Kenil- 
worth. We could have driven two miles easterly to 
Leamington and then to the north, and this we did 
at another time. The first and more direct route is 
five miles; the other about eight. If time permits, 
it is wise to take in Leamington, the fashionable spa 
of this part of England, whose saline waters have 
some, but in this day no great, repute, and whose chief 
local attraction is the Jephson Gardens. The Guy's 
Cliff road is, properly speaking, part of the famously 
" finest drive " to which reference has been made. 
The Guy mansion, which is connected with the legend- 
ary lore of the greatest of the Earls of Warwick, one 
is apt to miss as he passes by, for it is in some distance 
from the road. Still it is visible, for a moment only, 
through a little clearing in the copse. 



56 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIB ENGLAND 

( iuy of Warwick, if he lived at all, died — according 
to the story — in 929. In selecting this spot for a res- 
idence he is said to have done so on account of its 
solitariness and the surrounding exquisite views. Four 
hundred years before his day the antiquary Rous 
was a resident in this locality and he stated, that on 
account of these two qualities, " solitudeness and the 
fine scenery," the spot was selected as the site of an 
oratory dedicated to St. Alary Magdalene. The tra- 
dition is, that Guy as a recluse had for his dwelling 
a cave in the rock, and was accustomed to repair daily 
to this neighboring oratory for prayer, and that dur- 
ing his retreat his wife, in ignorance of his 
whereabouts, lived at the castle, although he went 
daily to beg bread at her hands. He was so com- 
pletely disguised that his identity was undiscovered. 
At length, however, just before dying, he made him- 
self known to her by means of a ring, at sight of which 
she immediately ran to his cave, arriving in time for a 
parting farewell. It may have been this story which 
gave Guy's Cliff its celebrity in the time of Henry 
V., as this monarch then visited the spot and it has 
been the scene of pilgrimages by both lettered and 
unlettered ever since. The present mansion is the 
seat of Miss Perry; it was once the residence of Mrs. 
Scott Siddons. 

From now on the landscape, fresh, clean and 
green, with pretty woods and splendidly kept hedges, 
and the perfect roadbed, lined with huge elms, limes 
and oaks, made coaching a rhythmic music. How 
we sang together the familiar melodies of earlier days, 
as we bowled along over the same road which Queen 
Elizabeth took when she went to pay her memorable 
visit to Robert Dudley! That visit almost turned 
Kenilworth Castle, if not the world, upside down with 



THE FINEST DRIVE IN THE KINGDOM 




58 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

feastings and actings, with tilts, tournaments and bear- 
baitings, with rope dancers and prize fighting, with 
bridal ceremonies by day and with wonderful fire- 
works by night. Who of the great spirits of English 
history has not been over this road from Warwick to 
Kenilworth? All through the Middle Ages and down 
to our own day, Warwick Castle and Kenilworth Cas- 
tle, in former times both ablaze with splendors, in 
later times the one a ruin, but beautiful in decay, have 
attracted to them the knightly, the romanticly inclined 
and the intelligent. Kings and founders of empires 
were not too proud, nor lawgivers and statesmen too 
busy to make the journey necessary to see Warwick, 
home of an illustrious line of Earls, or Kenilworth, the 
habitation of the other Earl, who almost won the heart 
of the mighty Virgin Queen, the last reigning sover- 
eign of the House of the Tudors. Kings lived at Ken- 
ilworth for over five hundred years before Robert Dud- 
ley, and every one of them traversed the road we were 
bounding over, but from that series of seventeen 
feast days beginning on the ninth day of July, 
one thousand five hundred and seventy-five, the fame 
of Kenilworth was a new event in the world, and 
thenceforward men everywhere wanted to see it just 
once before they were ready to die. Breathes there 
a traveler who has not seen Kenilworth, and he is a 
man to whom Scott is unknown and Amy Robsart 
not even a dream! 

The town of Kenilworth is rather spruce and it 
seems to be in growing demand for the summer 
boarder, who has at last overrun all the out-of-way 
places in the kingdom, and has grown content 
again with quiet little homes on the outskirts of his- 
toric towns. We must drive clear through it, a mile 
at least, and then out into the countrv again on al- 



THE FINEST DRIVE IN THE KINGDOM 59 

most a by-road to reach the Castle. Sixpence at the 
entrance; then one enters a pretty garden, and passes 
through a small wooden gate, when suddenly he is 
by an immense and picturesque set of ruins, amid 
acres of greensward, on which sheep are feeding. 
Winding walks, huge buttresses, lofty towers, water- 
less moats. Glorious Castle, more than half over- 
thrown, you are too big for details, too great with 
events of nearly a thousand years, too replete with 
scenes of revelries and statescraft, to be reckoned 
now as a mere mass of so many stones and dismantled 
•chimney places. The great dining-room has too many 
'secrets still hidden to make us wander far from it, 
though I did prefer to lie down — and we all did — on 
the succulent velvet, in the cool of the shade of the 
"high walls, and look up into the tranquil sky, and 
wonder why everything was so silent. Where had all 
the great gone? \\ 'here were Geoffrey and the early 
Henrys. Simon de Montfort and the Earl of Lancas- 
ter, John of Gaunt and the Earl of Leicester, Eliza- 
beth and the First Charles, and all those gloriously 
appareled knights, retainers, lackeys and beautifully 
■attired women, who thronged these halls and mean- 
dered, hand in hand, about these paths, from donjon 
to lake, from barbican to terrace, from Mervyn's 
"bower to the gardens and ancient stables, till the stars 
of night disappeared and the Day Star arose in the 
eastern horizon? Sitting there, on that turf of ages, 
I saw many an ancient scene. Memory is always 
vivid when the sky is bright and the air still. The one 
I called up first was that of the noontime of the Castle's 
history. There was no mistaking the characters, the 
dresses, the motives, the peculiar manners of those 
who trooped into the Castle grounds, and overflowed 
the lawns and elegantly lighted compartments on that 



6o 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



memorable Saturday in 1575. The Queen herself,. 
never handsome, but decorated in silk and jewels, 
which dazzled the eye and too often the hearts of her 
votaries, followed the trumpeters and the barons, and, 
with her retinue, embracing four hundred servants, 




Queen Elizabeth. 



took lodgings in this vast fortress. The porter, who 
guarded the entrance to the tilt-yard, asked the mean- 
ing of this commotion, and then, on seeing the Queen, 
pretending he was ignorant of her coming, fell down, 
begged her pardon, and gave her the keys. Then, 
said the ancient account, six trumpeters " clad in long 



THE FINEST DRIVE IX THE KINGDOM 61 

garments of sylk, who stood upon the wall of the gat< 
with their silvery trumpets of five foot long, sounded 
a tune of welcome." And so, " harmonious blasters, 
walking upon the walls, maintained their delectable 
music, while Her Highness all along the tilt-yard 
rode into the inner gate," where she was surprised 
" with the sight of a floating island on the large pool, 
on which was a beautiful female figure representing 
the Lady of the Lake, supported by two nymphs, sur- 
rounded by blazing torches, and many ladies clad in 
rich silks as attendants." The pageant closed with the 
splendid music of cornets, and there opened afterward 
vistas of bridges and offerings by heathen gods and 
goddesses, and there w r ere guns and fireworks. This 
u as but the opening day. Seventeen days' feasts which 
rivalled that of Belshazzar followed. I saw them as a 
panorama unrolling before the mental mirror. Trit- 
ons riding on mermaids, bears baited with blood- 
hounds, merry dancers in every conceivable costume, 
dinners that would have made a Caesar envious, and 
suppers that Lucullus could scarcely have matched 
upon the Pincian Hill: theatrical performances last- 
ing through twilight, starlight, midnight and dawn; 
one by one they troop on, real happenings, actual oc- 
currences, historical pageants, all to show the respect 
in which the Queen held her distinguished host, her 
faithful friend, her lover, the Earl of Leicester. 

" But regal state 
And sprightly mirth, beneath the festive roof, 
Are now no more." 

I once saw this same scene, in feeble portrait, yet with 
astounding effect upon the senses, acted in a theatre 
in Edinburgh. The Scotch are not supposed to be 
great supporters of drama, but they were out in great 



62 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



numbers to see the play, and the glories of the scenes 
eclipsed most of those terrestrial events which are 
characterized as " wonderful " in the arts of the mod- 
ern drama. 

From Mervyn's Tower there is a widespreading 




Mervyn's Tower. 



view. Now it looks barren; much waste land, little 
wood, few picturesque settings, but the genius of Scott 
hovers about it as the wings of angels once panoplied 
the gates of Eden. 

Did Amy Robsart ever inhabit Mervyn's Tower? 
Ah! the romance of it will never leave these ruins. 



THE FINEST IHMVK IN THE KIXCJ1M)M 



63 



Her grave is over in Oxford yonder, forty miles away. 
She was once a living personage and she was the 
wife of Leicester; married to him twenty-five years 
almost to the day before these scenes of revelry 




. imy Robsart. 



just described. Her untimely death occurred at Cum- 
ner Hall, three miles west of ' >xford. Did Leicester 
poison her? Did he direct it to be done? The world 
believes he did. But the world will never know. 








The Ladv Godiva Procession, Coventry. 



V.— THE GEORGE ELIOT COUNTRY. 



OXFORDSHIRE appears nowhere more rural 
and more enticing than on the direct road from 
Kenilworth to Coventry. Our horses seemed 
to snuff the exhalations from the hedge-rows and the 
ripening grainfields as we sped along at a noble gait 
over the hard pike, with the forest-covered hills in 
the distant west, above whose umbrageous shade the 
storm-cloud muttered. Was there to be an impend- 
ing storm? It gathers quickly in this land; now ap- 
pears the sun and now in a twinkling comes the down- 
pour. A curious country, this, for all kinds of weath- 
er, and equally curious for legends and stories of thril- 
ling scenes in the days before history was carved up 
into volumes. Druids were here; you can see their 
sacred cromlechs now. Students of the stars lived at 
Sherbourn long before the Herschels were at Staines. 
Lord Lovel's romantic death from hunger, and the 
finding of his body in the chair in which he died, has 
been handed down by the mouths of successive gen- 
erations. The old, old mansion in which Pope trans- 
lated the fifth volume of his Homer is a riddle which 



THE GEOKCE ELIOT COI T NTRY 




66 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

certainly runs back to the time of Henry IV. It was 
delightful, curious, exciting, to ponder over these 
things, as the patter of the hoofs of sixteen horses, 
drawing four splendid coaches, carrying one large 
family of friends, all Americans, fell upon the ear, and 
as I thought of them we dashed into Coventry just in 
time to escape a drenching. 

None of the hotels of Coventry are extraordinary 
for size or modernness, but the " King's Arms " is 
large, hospitable and comfortable, and its meals in 
repute. But it also has a trade in " spirits " which 
rivals any which J have ever encountered. The elab- 
orate bar-room, with massive and beautiful stained 
glass windows, is well patronized by day and packed 
at night with men and women struggling to allay 
their thirst. " Peeping Tom " had been a tailor ex- 
actly on that spot, and a bust of him appears on a cor- 
ner of the present building. ft is not stated where 
Lady Godiva lived, but as in the olden time the vil- 
lage had but one main street (now it is a city of fifty 
thousand), she must certainly have ridden down this 
narrow way, and, " clothed on with chastity " and her 
beautiful hair, gained the request which made her 
people free. It is a long stride backward to A. D. 
1057, but as King Charles II. in 1677 gave permission 
for a first public reproduction of the extraordinary 
scene, and on the Friday of Trinity week every third 
year the professional show still moves magnificently 
on, it may be part history and part legend. Godiva 
is to be seen now in the Town Hall, but she has 
grown small and dusty with the march of the ages. 
That statute, if life-size and in white marble, would be 
extraordinarily beautiful. 

Coventry is an active, pushing - , bustling place, 
especially on a Saturday evening. We were there to 



THE GEORGE ELIOT COUNTRY 67 

rest over the Sunday, but there was no quiet until 
midnight, if, indeed, soon after. Everybody was out 
to sec the butcher, the baker and candlestick maker, 
and drunkenness and riotings were going on in the 
broad highway as if they were so many delightful 

recreations of some of the people. The first g 1 

English bicycles ever rode in America came 
from Coventry, and excellent wheels come from there 
still. Perhaps it is more famous for ribbons, but it 
manufactures anything, from watches to carpets, 
that tends to enrich its coffers. One thing alone 
should make Coventry historically famous. It is the 
little garret room in St. Mary's Hall (now used as the 
Town Hall) where the beautiful Queen of Scots was 
confined for eight months of her long term of im- 
prisonment. Whoever reads the history of that la- 
mented Queen with care may yet not be familiar with 
even the names of the various places where she was 
incarcerated from time to time during all those long 
nineteen years of her imprisonment, from 1568 to 
1587; and, in fact, in no guidebook of Coventry which 
I have seen does it appear that one of these places 
was Coventry. Nevertheless she was taken there 
about the middle of February, in 1569, and somewhere 
about October she was removed to Sheffield. For 
about eight months, therefore, this little prison-place 
was doubtless her home. Inasmuch as. with all her 
faults, she evoked in her lifetime so many warm sym- 
pathies and kindled into enthusiasm so many knight- 
errants, and since her death her hard fate has touched 
with tenderness so many human hearts, it is curious 
that Coventry has not nurtured, with clearer knowl- 
edge and stronger faith, the recollections of her pitiful 
detention from the world in this little, dark and lone- 
some upper room -of its municipal hall. 



68 BRIGHT DAYS IN MEKRIE ENGLAND 




Maty, Queen of Scots 



THE GEORGE ELIOT COUNTRY 69 

Sundays were always welcome on our coaching 
trips, because it did become a little tiresome to bear 
the strain of the driving and of sightseeing combined, 
for days in succession. This was the first of our Sun- 
day rest days, and for one I was sorry it was not at 
Stratford, or at some place more closely wedded to 
country quiet. In all my varying days of rest on many 
rounds of travel, from California to Russia and Pales- 
tine, I am unaware of more perfect worship-days 
than those one may spend in rural England, away 
from the madding crowds, where the tall tower of 
one country structure gives out its music an hour be- 
fore the noon, and then again for vespers, and where 
amid the plain God's acre of their fathers and the 
bending yews, the simple folk of the parish gather in 
an ivy-mantled church of stone, erected hundreds of 
years before, to hear and ponder upon the Living 
Word. Out from the sunlight into the dark and 
solemn, or out from the gloom and dusk into the gold- 
en day, -the senses take upon themselves wings of 
highborn thought, the soul melts the affections into 
tears, and Life and Death, God and Heaven, stand out 
like new orbs of the firmament, like new revelations 
from the Apocalypse. 

Nevertheless I did find even in Coventry one 
church worthy of a Sunday visit. It is surmounted 
with an artistic spire nearly three hundred feet high,, 
that for almost half a millenium of years has pointed its 
tapering fingers to the overarching heavens. In ap- 
proaching Coventry three spires are visible, and by 
that title the place is often known to strangers: " the 
city of the three tall spires." Because St. Michael's 
was the chief of the three, I went to worship there, 
but the attendance was small. A red sandstone build- 
ing may be architecturally perfect, yet there does not 



70 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

seem in it the dignity and grace of the more subdued 
grays. At all events, St. Michael's had the form of a 
cathedral and the air of a modern edifice, and its very 
" sprightliness," as the guidebooks describe it, did not 
dispose us to feel within its walls, as certainly as we 
should, either the strength of its beauty or the force 
of its grandeur. The service was neither strong nor 
exhilarating, being a tedious choral performance. Ap- 
parently most of the auditors went to sleep. But 
there were two interesting features of the service, 
however, which may be named. Some benevolent 
man had left a fund a century or so ago, requiring that 
the income should be expended in bread to be giv- 
en away freely, every Sabbath, to those who ask for it, 
and in the maintenance of the poor of the parish. On 
a tomb in the rear of the nave were stacked up many 
loaves of bread, and these, at the close of the service, 
were distributed to all who asked. Another donor, 
in a still earlier century, the Fifteenth, had provided 
the means to support certain old men of the church, 
and these beneficiaries — a dozen or more, dressed 
alike in long black robes — occupied the front seats 
during the services. 

Monday morning found us eager to make a new 
start. Nuneaton, associated with George Eliot, was 
nine miles away; then Hinckley, and then Leicester. 
The day's journey was to be twenty-four miles, and 
it was a trifle rainy — " nasty," as we heard repeated 
over and over on the way. The only two things of in- 
terest about Nuneaton are that it has long manufac- 
tured gaudy ribbons, and that its vicinity was for 
twenty-two years the residence of one who, as a plain 
child and maiden, was known as Mary Ann Evans, 
but in after years as George Eliot. I if a hun- 

1 of its enterprising merchants, officials and people 



THE GEORGE ELIOT COUNTRY 



71 



know to-day that this gifted author was once one of 
those who, as a little girl and as a grown-up woman, 
walked its streets and bought of their pretty fineries? 
Somehow I doubt about the fineries; hers was a spir- 




George Eliot. 



itual and not worldly fibre of soul. As she walked by 
their shops, I more than suspect that the gayer the 
ribbons the less she saw of them; the finer the dra- 
per's windows the more she dreamed of great and 



7 2 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

lofty things. Had she ever written her full autobiog- 
raphy, I do not believe that her brief school-days at 
Miss Lewis's school in Nuneaton, influential as they 
were, carried with them so much remembrance of the 
town as of the people in the outskirts, where were her 
chosen friends. She loved those friends and they 
were in the sweet, wide country thereabout. In say- 
ing this one should not forget, of course, that her 
" Scenes of Clerical Life " give many interesting 
glimpses of the curious old church in Nuneaton, 
where the curate " preached his inaudible sermons." 
and of the " Bull Inn," the supposed original of the 
" Red Lion ;" and of various town localities which 
can be identified with tolerable accuracy. But neither 
can one shut his eyes to her descriptions of " a dingy 
town, surrounded by flat fields, lopped elms and 
sprawling manufacturing villages, which crept on with 
their wearing shops till they threatened to graft them- 
selves on the town." 

Griff House, her early home, is quite beyond the 
outskirts, being full two miles south of Nuneaton. It 
is standing by itself, to the left of the public road as 
one drives northerly. We had at first passed it by in- 
advertently, but it seemed rude and cruel not to look 
with intelligent eyes upon the spot where, from six 
months of age to twenty-two, this gifted author had 
spun tops and fed the ducks, baked bread and made 
butter, and, after her mother's death, had her " inner 
solitude." So, for one, I left the coach and walked 
back to the lawn and the great trees, and the leafy 
bowers of this old manor house, which, however, 
looked as fresh and clean as if it had been set in only 
a few years before behind the noble firs and the one 
glorious yew tree. It was in 1820 when the baby was 
prattling behind its green shutters, within its thick 



THE GEORGE ELIOT COUNTRY 



73 



red walls, behind those small-paned casement win- 
dows; but, like all such English manors, the house is 
good yet for the lifetimes of many generations. A 
quiet spot; not extraordinary, but yet not ordinary in 
the beauty of its hedges and rosebushes, and its plen- 
tiful vines. There is a pretty iron fence in front, with 
a gnarled, old oak before it. Off in the short distance 
is a rich wood: on every side are uplands and valleys; 
everywhere is "the peace of God." Somehow I could 
not bring myself to feel that the child of this house 




Griff House— Home of George Eliot, i From an Old Print.} 

ever was a real child like others, and. indeed, that is 
almost the picture made of her by those who knew her 
in her younger days. One of her schoolfellows, who 
knew her at the age of nineteen, says it was quite 
" impossible to imagine George Eliot a baby ; it 
seemed as if she must have come into the world fully 
developed, like a second Minerva. Ifer features were 
fully formed at a very early age. and she had a seri- 
ousness of expression almost startling for her years." 
And vet did she not write: 



74 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

" One aay my brother left me in high charge 
To mind the rod, while he went seeking bait, 
And nade me, when I saw a nearing barge 

Snatch out a line lest ne should come too late. 

" Proud of my task I watched with all my might 
For one whole minute, till my eyes grew wide, 
Till sky and earth took on a strange, new light. 
And seemed a dream-world floating on some tide." 

Old Hinckley proved a most attractive spot for a 
luncheon; not that "The ( ieorge " was more than a 
plain inn, but that an antiquarian and historian of the 
town, of unusual intelligence and full of genuine cour- 
tesy, always exhibiting the latter to strangers, invited 
us to his house and showed us the rewards of his 
industry and study. If Mr. Thomas Harrold is still 
living, I sincerely hope no American student of Eng- 
lish history will pass through Hinckley and not visit 
that estimable gentleman. He had at his residence 
not only the old charter of Hinckley, date of 1604, 
and court rolls of the manor of that same century, but 
plenty of Roman and English antiquities, found with- 
in and without the municipal limits. Hinckley was 
probably a Roman settlement. The name may be 
Saxon. Eight hundred years ago it was " Hinchelie," 
and the barons of Hinckley, one of whom was high 
steward to the King at the Conquest, held it in posses- 
sion at an earlier date. 

When we mounted coaches about two-thirty 
o'clock or later, Deddington was outdone in the num- 
ber of people who, at Hinckley, forsook all employ- 
ment to tender us their goodwill. But the reason of 
it was in part that it was a " bank holiday." All trades 
and callings in the British Isles have their holiday at 
least once a year; some once a month, but most of 
them take a half-day every week or two. There are 
scarcelv more holidavs on the whole in Rome than in 



THE GEORGE ELIOT COUNTRY 75 

England, the difference being that the one class is in- 
tended to be religions and the other recreative. It 
was in ncaring this place that occurred an incident 
which furnished us with both amusement and enthu- 
siasm. Mr. Franklin was never noted for understand- 
ing the right or wrong of the multifarious roads and 
lanes. As usual, he shouted out to right and left at 
passers-by: " Is this the road to Leicester: " One 
of the men thus accosted was on horseback, coming, 
doubtless, from that city. His answer was *' Yes, 
follow me," and he veered around and led our exciting 
procession. And he led it at great speed. We fol- 
lowed as if on a race to get there first. Our flags 
were unfurled, and this rider at the front, previously 
ungraceful enough, sniffing the importance of his mis- 
sion as a leader, straightened up. looked the picture 
of martial erectness, and cantered into town as if 
bearing news from some field of battle. He and we, 
we and be, seventeen horses, a lot of lumbering 
coaches and an excited throng of passengers, dashed 
around the turns and threaded the busy streets, to the 
music of wind instruments and the dismay of the 
towns people. It was a clean-and-clear two mile 
-pint. Xii wheel came off. nor did any man's cart or 
donkey-wagon fail to give us the whole field, while 
their drivers, amazed and dazed, looked on. It was 
pretty well on to sundown when we reined up before 
the " Bell," before which the tooting of the horns had 
called up another motley crowd of spectators. That 
and the " Stag and Pheasant " cared well for us, while 
the " Spanish Troubadours " at a public hall furnished 
us with relishing music (hiring the evening. 

Leicester has more people than the city of Lon- 
had when the Earl, who made the name so fa- 
mous, lived and played his part at tl 'Hz- 



76 BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

abeth. And for some reason or other it asks us to> 
believe it was founded by King Lear, whoever he was, 
or whenever he is supposed to have reigned. It is a 
sad commentary on royalty that when King Rich- 
ard III. was killed at the battle of Bosworth, (the 
night before which he spent at the " Blue Boar " inn 
in Leicester), he was buried in a stone coffin in the 
Franciscan convent, which afterward was used as a 
horse-trough! An inscription on a building adjacent 
to this burial-place still bears these lines: " Near this 
spot lie the remains of Richard III., the last of the 
Plantagenets, 1485." That was seven years before 
Columbus discovered the island of San Salvador. 
The city has some of its Roman wall, and the site 
of a once strong castle, and plenty of commercial 
prosperity. 

St. Margaret's church of 1444 certainly deserves a 
look, as in the abbey that adjoined it Cardinal Wol- 
sey was hastily buried. The account of that over- 
reaching potentate's downfall furnishes pathetic read- 
ing. Deserted by his friends, hounded by his enemies, 
shattered in health, he was arrested at Cawood Castle 
in November 4, 1530, on the charge of treason. He 
knew this foretold his doom. He had fallen from 
the highest pinnacle; he was about to descend into 
the depths of an infamous end. He was taken ill, and 
with difficulty reached Leicester Abbey on the 26th, 
on his way to the Tower. " Father Abbot," he cried, 
as he entered that institution, " I am come hither to 
leave my bones among you." He felt that he was a 
dying man. He was assisted to bed. His last mo- 
ments were spent in speaking of what he believed 
were his duties to his king and his country. " At 
eight o'clock on the morning of the twenty-ninth he 
died; and," says a writer, "within twenty-four hours 



THE GEORGE ELIOT COUNTRY 



77 




78 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

was buried in a rvule coffin all that remained of the 
genius who made possible the glories of Elizabeth 
and the British empire of to-day." One may dispute 
the conclusion of the quotation, and yet on ruins of 
men and nations glories of empires are often founded. 
How God disposes when man proposes! Wolsey, it 
will be remembered, had constructed with great 
care for himself a magnificent sarcophagus. Lord 
Nelson, nearly three hundred years later, was put into 
that sarcophagus. Wolsey was laid without ceremony 
in a " rude " stone cofrin, and where his remains are 
now no mortal man knows. 








ft 




Muff RNftfci^LiLW 



Where Robin Hood Mr/ ///< Merrie Men. 



\i.— LORD BYRON'S GRAVE AND NOT 
TINGHAM. 

" O cold and cruel Nottingham! 
In disappointment and in tears, 
Sad, lost and lonely, here I am 
To question, 'is this Nottingham 
Of which I dream'd for years and years?' 

AS THIS was to be the last day of the coaching- 
trip, it was looked forward to with unusual 
zest. We were to go twenty-six miles, with 
one breathing space at Loughborough, at the " King's 
Head. "What king's headwas ever there I did not learn. 
That town of eighteen thousand people had little with 
which to entertain us. but the air was tranquil and 
bracing, and at every village the sounding horns 
brought to the windows happy children's faces and 
rosy-cheeked young women, while men at trades left 
their benches, and clerks in shops their counters, to 
watch the progress of the strangers. An extensiv( 
coaching party like ours had never, perhaps, visited 
those parts; if otherwise, then curiosity had not died 
tut, for everywhere were new life and animation mani- 
fested and crowds gathered to see the pleasant sight. 



80 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

Probably the spectacle of so many ladies mounted 
high up in air behind such fine horses explained the 
excitement. English women walk, singly or in pairs, 
everywhere, but rarely, if ever, congregate in crowds 
on top of coaches. With every passing mile the ten- 
sion grew stronger with the party. Laughter and 
song, happy voices and freshly manufactured humor, 
made those miles seem all too brief. 

And now came Nottingham. The first sight of it 
made us ready to exclaim : " How sorry we are ; the 
coaching is over!" The second sight ministered to 
our pride and patriotism. There, above " The 
George " hotel, floated the emblem of our country's 
greatness — Old Glory. Is there anything in the whole 
wide world so beautiful as the American flag? To 
a foreigner it means little except its bright colors and 
airy folds, but to us it symbolizes everything good and 
great, generous and noble, in country, commerce, com- 
munity, citizenship. It is the personification of law, of 
liberty, of loyalty, of union. How we lift our hats 
more than to a prince or a king when we see that wav- 
ing flag and remember that it is our flag, the symbol of 
our free religion, free education, free speech and ex- 
act equality of man with man. Colonel P., of Philadel- 
phia, a great lover of fine horses and fine natural scen- 
ery, was so overcome by the sight of this flag at such 
an unexpected moment that he could have — I am 
not sure but that he did — shed tears. On many an oc- 
casion afterward, when speaking to audiences in our 
country about these coaching days, he rarely omitted 
to describe the scene of this American flag, waving 
high up in air on one of the main streets in Notting- 
ham, as one of the delightful recollections of his life. 

We had reached Nottingham about four o'clock. 
Hucknall was eight miles away by rail, five by car- 



BYRON'S GRAVE AND NOTTINGHAM 81 

riage; could we leave the vicinity and not see Huck- 
nall? In the morning we were obliged to hie away early. 
to other scenes not near. Must we then miss Huck- 
nall? No. a thousand times no. Lord Byron's tomb 
— it must be visited. ( )r should it be Newstead Ab- 
bey? We held a *' council of war." A few tireless la- 
dies declared they could see both, and I believe they 
did. The rest of us chose Hucknall. I have a dis- 
tinct recollection of the plainness of Hucknall-Torkard, 
to give it its whole uneuphonious title. Quaint, busy, 
work-a-day, practical, unpoetical, homely spot: one 
really wonders that it was considered a fit place for 
such a poet. Westminster Abbey had shut its door 
to the burial of the soldier-poet, who had almost 
hoped to be King of Greece, who had gone to Athens 
to draw his sword for liberty, and who had died af- 
ter a delirium in which he was leading an attack upon 
the enemies of that country, with the words, " For- 
wards! forwards! follow me! " So the next best spot 
for interment was Hucknall, within sight, almost, of 
the home of his youth and of his best and happiest 
years. The short main street suddenly ends against 
the wall of Hucknall graveyard, within which, beside 
scores of graves, stands the small, gray, stone church 
we were to visit. The gate to the yard opened with 
ease, but the church itself was locked, and not a per- 
son was near. It was in the late afternoon and the 
lingering sun was pouring its rays on foliage and 
graves. It was so like the end of man, even of all 
great men, and certainly of such a man, born to no- 
bility of estate, but who had forfeited the most of his 
exalted privilege, to come suddenly upon absolute and 
unspeakable quiet. I heard no bird, and there were 
not even human voices at that hour by the burial 
place of Lord Byron. In death he was silent; no 

6 



82 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

word could now reach him from the land of his for- 
mer life, nor would voice or song ever come to us 
from him to tell of the mystery of Death and of the 
Judgment. When good men die we may grieve at 
their departure, but we are also thrilled at the future 
glories that we know await them in a world where the 
stars fade not and every afterglow is a new sunrise. 
But when those are snuffed away from Time, who, we 
fear, have made no known preparations for Eternity, 
we are aghast, and the silence is as of a tomb in a 
pyramid, or a grave beneath the waters of the sea. 
Byron was a genius who could wing his flight in po- 
etic song like an archangel, but was not his quiver 
full of the arrows of a Lucifer? How much we have 
admired his vast expanse of extraordinary poetic en- 
ergy and felt his power over the soul, as he swept 
the strings like a master! How much some of us 
have wanted to love him despite his faults of manli- 
ness and his too-frequent prostitution of splendid 
gifts! Yet here he lies, with no descendants to do 
him reverence, and with few visiting his tomb, ex- 
cept as we had come, strangers from a far-off land. 

He sleeps, the warrior sleeps, his. knighthood gone, 

Leaving no word to beckon heartthrobs on, 

Nor pointing hand toward God and glorious dawn. 

The sexton came, unlocked the door, and we stood by 
the plain pavement stone, in the chancel, near the altar 
rail, with the one word upon it, " Byron," and the 
date of his birth and death. This was all. Earth to 
earth, dust to dust; the end! I thought of the wreath 
of laurel which my friend, the American poet, who 
has been much like Byron in many respects, but with 
mellower nature and with more democratic spirit, 
carried from San Francisco in 1870 and hung above 



BYRON'S GRAVE AND NOTTINGHAM 



83 



the grave, but, of course, it had long ago withered 

and disappeared. I lis lines came to me, and the 
charity of them made me feel all the more kindh to 
the dead child of passion beneath the stone: 




Lord Byron's Tomb. 



" In men whom men condemn as ill, 
I find so much of goodness still; 
In men whom men pronounce divine 
I find so much of sin and blot, 
1 hesitate to draw a line 
Between the two, where God has not." 

There was a wreath of leaves in brass set in the stone 
about his name, the gift of the King of Greece. Eng- 



84 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

land might offer such a tribute now, but it would not 
when he died. The poet's mother lies upon his right 
hand, his daughter Ada upon his left. I walked out 
of the quiet church with still heart and few words. 
I gathered a tiny daisy from the grass outside, and 
thanked God that, true as it is that the body must 
perish, equally true is the reflection that great 
thoughts live forever, come how and from whom they 
will, and that the immortal soul of any man, even 
of a little child, may, if He so will, become a flower 
in the Everlasting Gardens. 

There are four memorable things to ponder over 
when one is at Nottingham. The first is, that a town 
so little heard of in America, supposedly small, has a 
population of a quarter-million of souls. It requires 
the census to believe it, though it covers much 
ground, the market-place alone occupying five and 
one-half acres. And it is the lace and hosiery me- 
tropolis of England. The second is that it was the 
birthplace of Henry Kirke White, the son of a butch- 
er, who, in 1806, at the early age of twenty-one, joined 
the great majority. Of him Southey once said: " He 
possessed as pure a heart as ever it pleased the Al- 
mighty to warm with life;" and of him Byron sung: 

" Unhappy White! when life was in its spring 
And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing, 
The spoiler swept that soaring lyre away 
Which else had sounded an immortal lay!" 

His verses are now little read, but genius was on 
his brow. The third is that the Sherborne Forest 
is near, the erstwhile home of " Robin Hood and his 
merrie men." There is not a boy but has heard of 
Robin Hood, and in this very Nottinghamshire he 
reigned king of the forest for long and long. Seven 
hundred and forty odd years ago he is said to have 



BYRON'S GRAVE AND NOTTINGHAM 85 

been born, and for at least five hundred years Ins free- 
and-easy wood-life has been the theme of nursery 
tales and children's prattle. 

"The merry pranks he play'd would ask an age to tell, 
And the adventures strange that Robin Hood befell 
In this our spacious [sle, I think there is not one. 
But he hath heard some talk of him and little John; 

And to the end <>f time the tali'-- shall ne'er be done, 
Of Scarlok, George a Green, and Muck, the miller's son. 
Of Tuck, the merry friar, which many a sermon made 
In praise of Robin Hood, his outlaws, and their trade." 

Of course he was a robber, but what was that in the 
days " when knighthood was in flower?" The fourth 
is that here was strong and stalwart Nottingham 
Castle; not the present unimportant structure, pa- 
latial and commanding as it is, but a greater on the 
same site. Of it but a remnant is left — the bastian 
and gateway — which was not connected with the 
newer structure. This Castle was in its day a grand 
and magnificent defense, almost three times the size 
of the present one, and at least a thousand and fifty 
years have passed since its earliest stones were " a 
strong tower*' for the ferocious Danes when they 
first came to the spot. King Alfred could not dis- 
lodge those Danes of A. D. 872 from this tremendous 
fortification, except by starving them into terms; 
and when the mighty Norman, William, looked upon 
its masterly position in 1068, he ordered the Castle 
built, which, in its glory, "was so strong by nature 
and art. that it was esteemed impregnable except by 
famine." The mighty Edwards and Richards worked 
upon it to repair the injuries of war and years. Parlia- 
ment sat in it and Richard I. besieged it. Isabella. 
Queen, and the unprincipled Mortimer lived within 
its walls, and the tragic events there that led up to 
Mortimer's execution are among the most thrilling 



86 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERBIE ENGLAND 

of Fourteenth Century history. Here Edward IV. 
was proclaimed King." From it Richard III. marched 
with his army to the fatal battle of Bosworth Field. 
The proud Charles I. set up his standard in it at the 
beginning of his great struggle with his Parliament- 
ary enemies. His death was the signal for its destruc- 




Nottingham Castle. 

tion and then this " bulwark of the Crown " perished. 
Splendid old monument of brave days, Nottingham 
would be proud to-day to have it intact, just as it 
came fresh from the hand of William the Conqueror; 
but " the mills of the gods grind slowly and they 
grind exceeding fine! " 




Ox/'orJ from Christ Church Meadows. 



VII.— THE FIRST UNIVERSITY TOWN. 



HAVING RETURNED, the next season, to Ox- 
ford for a second coaching trip, I took a good 
look at that place, the most ancient University 
town of the land. Few travelers through Oxford by 
rail, or even those who pause there for a few hours 
or a night, appreciate, perhaps do not consider in 
thought, what this one spot is and has been to Eng- 
land, much less what it was originally designed by its 
founder to be. It had a charter and a castle, and a 
palace for the King, and Parliaments met there. But 
— who would now believe it? — it was also intended to 
be the greatest centre of trade in all the kingdom. 
It was to have been exactly what London is, the com- 
mercial metropolis of England. Providence — the 
short-sighted would say the university builders — de- 
creed otherwise. Colleges went up and, in conse- 
quence, the markets went down. It was soon dis- 
covered that education and merchandise did not neces- 
sarily go hand in hand, and that the Thames at Lon- 
don was better fitted for money-getting than the 
banks of the Isis. So these plain meadows were 



88 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

destined to swallow up the hopes of merchants, 
though giving in return the riches of knowledge to all 
future generations. The gold of the sciences began 
to be mined, but the gold of greed took its eternal 
flight. 

Not the first, but the first large school in Oxford 
probably dates from 1130, over a hundred and twen- 
ty-five years before the foundation of a regular socie- 
ty of students at Cambridge. And the town itself is 
so old that " the memory of man runneth not to the 
contrary," which in this case may mean a little more 
than a thousand years ago, or may mean almost 
three thousand years ago. Somehow or other the 
Oxonians have a legend, which some people have 
tried to pass off as real history, that one Memphric, 
King of Britain, 1009 B. C. founded the town. If 
so, this was in the reign of King David, about forty 
years before the building of Solomon's Temple! In 
America we call a town aged when our great-grand- 
fathers saw the first schoolhouse erected on the hill 
and the first church planted near it. In England a 
thousand years is but as our century. And certainly 
a thousand years ago in this our motherland there 
was such a flourishing civilization at Winchester and 
at Oxford that they produced one of the highest 
types of kings which the world has ever known — King 
Alfred the Great. He made Winchester his capital, 
but he coined money and encouraged learning 
at Oxford. That was a great day in its his- 
tory when Oxford's liberal patron, Walter de 
Merton, changed the tastes of trade to a thirst 
for literary studies. He founded Merton College in 
1264, and it became at once a University in full blast, 
and excelled all the other universities in England or 
in France. Its foundation decided the fate of the citv. 



THE FIRST UNIVERSITY TOWN 89 

In fact so suddenly did the school idea develop that 
every wealthy father and many poor parents in Eng- 
land felt it their chief duty to patronize Merton, 
and in its palmy days it is said that as many as 30.- 

000 students were studying in it and in the accom- 
panying schools and colleges which rapidly sprang 
up in Oxford. Now the number is about three thou- 
sand, divided among all the forty colleges. 

But this early history of ( )xford may be read in 
any encyclopedia. I was more interested in its as- 
sociations with great men, who have made a high 
place in the world's catalogue of fame, and in the 
.quiet attractiveness of its humble surroundings. So 

1 looked well at its " setting " and then at its many 
shrines of genius. ( )xford is in a plain. It is built 
on a simple reach of meadow bordering on the Cher- 
well and the I sis, the latter the local name for the 
Thames. Neither river is more than a " creek " at 
this point, and even where the one How-- into the 
other, (the land thereabouts is too low for the town 
to push up to the junction), there would seem to be 
no reason to expatiate upon the size of the stream 
or upon the prettiness of its outlook. In every direc- 
tion the land is flat; except that it was once a good 
fording place for oxen."( )xen-ford" — ( )xford — would 
probably never have been heard of, away from its 
locality. 

Not during coaching days, but some years before, 
I first stopped at Oxford, with a single companion, 
to learn the whereabouts of the residence of Professor 
John Ruskin. Somehow 1 did not then know of that 
sweet Brantwood where he had his home nearly all 
the year around, but did know he was " Slade Profes- 
sor " at Oxford, and supposed this quiet city was one 
of the proper places in which to make inquiries. The 



90 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

first impression of that day was strikingly similar 
to that received in that equally famous, but much 
less ancient, university city of Leyden in the Nether- 
lands. In the latter city everybody was in bed, asleep, 
at two in the afternoon. All business seemed sus- 
pended, and four or five persons at the most were 
visible in an hour's walk about the streets from the 
railway station to St. Peter's, and to the renowned 
44 school of Grotius and Descartes," and on the re- 
turn along- the banks of the so-called " Old Rhine." 
It was at a similar period, the University being in va- 
cation, and on the afternoon of a hot day, when I first 
sauntered down High street in Oxford. Of course 
I expected to find students absent, professors over in 
Switzerland, colleges tight closed, and the people tak- 
ing it moderately lazy, without rush or levity. But 
not streets like those in Leyden and nearly like 
those in Pompeii! Here and there were policemen 
and a water cart, but few pedestrians and no purchas- 
ers seeking wares in the shops. We were the only 
guests at the " Old Mitre " hotel, and the sole 
person to greet us was the proprietor himself, who 
showed his patrons to a room and asked if we desired 
anything to eat. Adjusted as to surroundings, I made 
inquiry as to Professor Ruskin. " Never heard o' 
that man." was the laconic reply. We went into 
the street and hoped to meet intelligent men. There 
■were no men there. We did, later, find a policeman 
or two, and, still later, some travelers like ourselves 
on foot, and a cart driver or so. Not one had ever 
"" heard o' that man." A more systematic endeavor 
failed, for the university buildings were closed, the 
churches were impenetrable, and the whole town was 
asleep. 

On beginning the coaching visits, Oxford, to the 



THE FIRST UNIVERSITY TOWN 91 

sight, was the same pretty collection of spires and 
towers which had previously greeted me upon arriv- 
al. Here were the same blackened stone build- 
ings, grim and ugly for the most part, which are 
called Merton and Lincoln, Balliol and Brasenose, 
and all those other colleges which make the town 
what it is, and that are everywhere, where you least 
expect to find them. We Americans in hunting up 
a college look for a campus and a hill, perhaps; but 
the English universities are put down plum]) on a 
street, just as a hospital or a club house, and the 
•campus, if any, is in the rear, concealed from view. 
First impressions of these buildings are apt to be dis- 
agreeable. Whatever is commonplace is made pub- 
lic, and whatever is artistic is hidden. But before 
one leaves the surrounding grounds, which are at first 
out of sight, he is sure to see bits of landscape and 
-of architecture surprisingly beautiful. Wit an Eng- 
lish home or ancient building in Oxford fails us when 
it comes to a quiet examination: they have peaceful. 
quaint, lovable quadrangles, or trefoils, or arches, or 
ivied elms, or something which make one glad he 
paused to " look within." 

1 wonder if the average foreigner has any correct 
idea of how many different colleges there are in Ox- 
ford? One big educational institution seems to sat- 
isfy many of the cities of the world outside o* Eng- 
land, but not so at Oxford, or Cambridge. You meet 
them at every turn of the street, at every cross-walk. 
at every alley. Let me name a few only, as seen 
in a single drive; they will be examples of many 
more. Here is New Inn Hall, of exceedingly plain 
■exterior. John Wesley and Sir William Blackstone 
■studied within those gray walls, and once a principal, 
also named Blackstone. daily had the patience of 



92 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

Jot extended through thirty-seven years, for during 
all that period he was ready to teach and had not a 
single pupil. The ground it stands on is the same 
whereon Alfred the Great established his mint, to coin 
money for his realm. Opposite, behind a high stone 
wall, are two low 7 houses with tiled roofs. They 
form the first Wesleyan chapel, built in 1760. Now 
comes St. Ebb's street, and on it stands St. Ebb's. 
Church. That g^eat preacher of Brighton, Rev. Fred- 
erick W. Robertson, had crowds flock to hear him 
during his early ministry in this very church. Beef Lane 
is nigh, and there stands famous Pembroke College. 
Pembroke, like all the other colleges, is built of a 
dark, soft sandstone, not at all pretty. It is a quadran- 
gle. Over the entrance is a large bay window, where- 
in the great Sam Johnson sat and studied. Do you 
remember wdiat Lord Macaulay said of him at this pe- 
riod of his life? ' The needy scholar was generally 
to be seen under the gate of Pembroke, haranguing a 
circle of lads, over whom, in spite of his tattered 
gown and dirty linen, his wit and audacity gave him 
an undisputed ascendancy." A more eloquent preach- 
er of a higher type was George Whitfield a man of 
more infinite humor was Tom Hood; and both the 
sermonizer and the editor of " Fun " dog-eared books 
at Pembroke. Bishop Corbett, and Beaumont the 
dramatist, studied there with scores of other distin- 
guished men. ' The lion of Oxford " comes next 
and it is Christ Church college. It is the same regu- 
lation, dull-gray stone, " four-square " building, en- 
closing a court. Its fame is world-wide, and its bell,. 
" Great Tom," of 17,000 pounds, is one of the won- 
ders of the city. Cardinal Wolsey founded it. It 
names among its hosts of worthies Edward VII., 
King Leopold, the Duke of Wellington and Sir Philip- 



THE FIRST UNIVERSITY TOWN 93 

Sidney. If it stopped here it would have reputation, 
but William Perm, the " man of peace;" the two Wes- 
leys, " rare Ben Johnson," Lord Mansfield, and, not 
least, John Ruskin, were students at Christ's. One 
man I have omitted: he whose name is second to none 
as orator and statesman wherever the English lan- 
guage is spoken — Gladstone. Turning off at Oriel 
street one sees Oriel College, five and a half cen- 
turies old. It is prospering with over four hundred 
students. This was Sir Walter Raleigh's college; al- 
so that of Bishop Butler, John Keble, Dr. Arnold, 
, the Rugby Master; Bishop Wilberforce and Tom 
Hughes, author of " Tom Brown's School Days." 
Great lights and great wits; many are the anecdotes 
told of them both in college and post-college days. 
The first large building on the left is the Corpus 
Christi, dedicated to " the most Holy Body of Christ," 
whence its name. Here John Ruskin really lectured 
in that famous Slade course. So he was not a resi- 
dent at Oxford, but merely a visitor to lecture. The 
college membership of Corpus Christi rises to two 
hundred and fifty. Connected with this institution 
have been the geologist Buckland; the " learned and 
judicious Hooker," whose beautiful description of 
Law, as having her seat " in the bosom of God " every 
law student knows by heart; the poet Coleridge, and 
Lord Tenterdon. 

Go down Merton street and there stands Merton 
College. On Merton's books we find Hervey, the 
discoverer of the circulation of the blood; John Wyc- 
lifre, that pioneer of the English Reformation, and 
Cardinal Manning, the late head of the Romish 
church in England. St. Alban's adjoins Merton and 
both Archbishop Whately and Philip Massinger, the 
dramatist, gave it fame. This is a good place at which 



94 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

to stop and take breath, for we reach here a piece of 
grass land, " the meadows," flat bnt pretty. The 
Cherwell flows along, and a walk runs from it to 
Christ college, which is known as the Broad Walk. 
It is nineteen paces wide, lined with gigantic elms; 
Keats termed them " green robed senators." How 
many ponderous minds like Johnson's, and delicate 
ones like Keats', have been calmed and softened by 
the saunter down this quarter-mile path? There is 
not such another walk around Oxford, and every 
great and small name connected with the University 
has been breathed beneath these enormous limbs, 
" where mind woed mind in fond delight." " Dear 
old Magdalen College " next, with its three hundred 
and fifty students. Cardinal Wolsey was of the 
alumni. Not much to boast of and yet a ruler of 
rulers. The historian Gibbon is an improvement on 
the Cardinal, and the essayist Addison on Gibbon. . 
Sir John Falstaff. the sturdy patriot John Hampden, 
the astronomer Earl of Rosse, Fox of the " Book of 
Martyrs," and, in late years, Charles Reade, were 
Magdalenites. This college has a high tower and is, 
I think, the most beautiful of all the Oxford group of 
buildings. Behind the college is the Addison walk, 
which the essayist made his strolling ground; and 
an equally learned writer, Sir Christopher North, 
who when at Magdalen was known as a great leader, 
trod the same favorite path. North is said to have 
jumped the Cherwell where it joins the Isis, and 
where it is twenty-three feet across. I should de- 
light to be on the Isis in a boat, or even sit on its 
banks beneath the trees, on a first-of-May morning 
when the old and picturesque custom of singing the 
Te Deum from the summit of the Magdalen tower 
is observed. There are to be seen choristers in sur- 



THE FIRST UNIVERSITY TOWN 



95 




H 




96 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

plices, and grave professors and members of the 
University who have been privileged to secure a 
ticket. As the last stroke of the hour of five is tolled, 
they uncover heads and sing that grandly fa- 
mous chant, amid the silence of the town, and with 
the fresh dew upon the meadows round. Tin horns 
follow up the " proclamation of May " in the streets, 
but they are soon drowned by the joyous ringing of 
the bells, which loud and long proclaim the day. The 
custom is exactly four hundred years old this year 
{1901), if we are to believe one ancient writer: and 
still, as heretofore, the sum of £10 is annually paid to 
furnish a breakfast and dinner to the singers. Re- 
turning up High street, we find Queen's college, 
where King Henry V., Edward the Black Prince, 
Cecil the eloquent divine, and others studied. An 
eagle is the emblem of this institution, and on the 
reading desk of the chapel we find inscribed, " The 
bird of Queen's is the queen of birds." At Christmas 
the boar's head is still served up at Queen's, as " a 
ryght merrie jouste of ye olden tyme." 

I name other colleges hurriedly, though each has 
a history on which it would be pleasant to dwell. 
University college is one, having four hundred stu- 
dents and owning seventy-six hundred acres of land. 
Lord Eldon and Shelley gave it a name. All Souls 
has on its list Sir William Blackstone, Jeremy Tay- 
lor, " Night Thoughts " Young, and Muller. Lin- 
coln college graduated James Hervey and Exeter, 
Davenant. Balliol graduated Dean Stanley, Adam 
Smith and Sir William Hamilton. Hertford college 
took charge of Dean Swift and Fox, the statesman, 
beside Sir Matthew Hale and Sir Henry Vane; New 
college, Sydney Smith; Brasenose, F. W. Robert- 
son; Burton, Musgrave and Bishop Heber; Wooster, 



THE FIRST UNIVERSITY TOWN 97 

De Ouincy; St. John's, Hendrik Hudson and Shir- 
ley. Among other colleges unmentioned, Jesus is 
one. It is not easy to admire the nomenclature of 
" Jesus College." It somehow lacks reverence, espe- 
cially when it calls up the verse of an old pamphlet 
of early days: 

" Hugo Pressh, built this collesh for Jesus Creesh, and the Welsh 
geesh, 
Who love a peesh of toasted cheesh — here it ish." 

This college has had among its distinguished gradu- 
ates Archbishop Usher and about twenty other bish- 
ops. 

1 On the whole it seems there are about twenty- 
one colleges and six halls in Oxford, and they con- 
stitute what is known as the University. The stu- 
dents number only 3,000, not more than in two of the 
first American universities. Cambridge has seventeen 
colleges. So these two towns, whose combined pop- 
ulation is not over 90,000. have nearly forty colleges, 
almost every one famous, and certainly every one 
older by from one hundred to four hundred years 
than the oldest college in America. No wonder the 
generations of students which have congregated in 
these two little spots have evolved by centuries of 
work some of the foremost men of Christendom, and 
by long practice such boat races as make history, 
and such general athletics as, in the matter of sheer 
endurance, put all the other nations of Europe to the 
blush. 

Thus far I have considered but the intellectual 
fountains in Oxford. What of the religious associa- 
tions, of the wonderful libraries, of the museums, of 
the clubs, of moonlight boatings on the Isis? These 
subjects are almost too innumerable to treat of other 



g8 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

than in a guide book. If one wants to become ac- 
quainted with Oxford, he must remain there at least 
a week or two, and carefully take up, one by one, the 
subjects in which he feels interested. For example, 
if he cares for the making- of books, he must spend 
some time visiting the University Press in Walton 
street, which is supposed to be one of the most per- 
fect printing establishments in England. It has been 
in operation since 1669, and has issued an enormous 
number of Bibles in different languages, as well as 
the learned lucubrations of the professors. If inter- 
ested in libraries, he will not fail to go to the Bodleian 
collection, founded in 1320, and housed in a building 
whose erection was begun as early as 1445, although 
it was 157 years later before Sir Thomas Bodley of 
Merton college refounded and renamed the library. 
Then he wrote of it: " And thus I concluded at last 
to set up my staff at the library door in Oxon, be- 
ing thoroughly persuaded that, in my solitude and 
surcease from the commonwealth affairs, I could not 
busy myself to any better purpose than by reducing 
the place to the public use of students." It contains 
400,000 volumes and nearly 30,000 manuscripts, and 
is, next to the British Museum, the greatest collec- 
tion in England. It will not be forgotten that Marat 
of France, who was murdered by Charlotte Corday, 
robbed the library when he was a tutor at Oxford, 
and suffered imprisonment in the castle for the crime. 
If one cares more for a museum, he should visit the 
Ashmolean, erected in 1683, which has many curiosi- 
ties that cannot be seen elsewhere. 

As to the vitality of the educational atmosphere, 
there are various accounts, each probably depending 
upon the point of view. One American professor 
who lectured there, recently wrote: "Some one has 



THE FIRST UNIVERSITY TOWN 



99 



wittily said that ' ( )xford is a place where ideas are 
carefully and painlessly extracted.' I imagine I felt 
as a mouse which a professor puts under an air glass 
and exhausts the air. It suffers no pain, but simply 
stifles, as the vital, life-giving air is drawn off. They 
[the Oxford professors] had much learning, but little 
wisdom, and almost no real contact with daily work- 




Driving About Oxford. 



ing life. They had lived, and were living, the same 
life that their predecessors had lived for centuries, 
and the spirit has gone out of it; it is a dead thing. 
. . . I have often heard the word ' effete ' used 
as a joke by Westerners toward the East and Europe. 
It strikes me that that word is just the correct one 
to apply to Oxford." Necessarily I am not posted on 
L.ovC. 



ioo BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIB ENGLAND 

the life, or want of life among- the professors, but I 
am sure this view does not take into consideration 
the modes of English thought or the characteristics 
of English life. England is so filled with scholarly 
men who are graduates of Oxford and Cambridge, 
that it cannot be that the college ideals at the Univer- 
sity are below those of the best American colleges, 
although, for the honor of our country, be it said, we 
have universities which are now better equipped, and 
which, in the nature of things, ought to produce bet- 
ter results than any of those in Great Britain. 

It is in the University church, called St. Mary the 
Virgin, in High street, where this inscription on a 
marble slab always draws to it the votaries of histor- 
ical romance: " In a vault of brick, at the upper end 
of this quire, was buried Amy Robsart, wife of Lord 
Robert Dudlev, K. G., on Sundav, 22nd September, 
A. D. 1560." ' 

A clerk to the council of Queen Elizabeth, one 
Rogers, once wrote what is often quoted in the town: 

" He that hath Oxford seen, for beauty, grace, 
And healthiness, ne'er saw a better place. 
If God himself on earth abode would make, 
He Oxford, sure, would for his dwelling take." 



That is characteristically Oxonian 





Houseboat on the Thames. 



VIII. — ALONG THE THAMES. 



AFTER FINISHING a week of coaching from 
Oxford northerly to Nottingham, I had the 
fever to try it southerly along the Thames. I 
knew that the highway by the banks of that noted 
river was in great favor with the University under- 
graduates, and that picnic parties and artists went to 
Streatley, Pangbourne and Goring all the way from 
London — of course by rail — and day after day en- 
joyed a feast of good things for the eye, especially 
at Streatley. These two summer resorts were on this 
road. So I planned an eight days' drive, starting in 
at Oxford and this time making a real circuit, to in- 
clude the Isle of Wight. We were to cover over two 
hundred miles with two coaches and a brake. The 
coaches were to be the same four-in-hands which had 
conveyed us to the forests of Robin Hood. The brake 
simply had two long seats lengthwise of the convey- 
ance, facing each other, with room for two by the 
driver, and was not fo enjoyable as the coach. The 
latter had the advantage of requiring only two horses, 



102 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERUIE ENGLAND 

and, while entirely comfortable, was less high than 
the coaches and so gave us less range of vision. Fos- 
ter, unfortunately, was not this time one of the mas- 
ters of ceremonies, but Mr. R. was along, and his 
English ways continued to amuse us. It doesn't take 
years for the average American of his mould to be- 




Another Start Upon the Coach. 

come just a little more English than the average na- 
tive-born Briton. R.'s inflections, as well as his clothes, 
reached their goal before the end of the first twelve- 
month of his now complete Anglicization. In order 
to make perfect satisfaction between the occupants 
of coaches and brake, a scheme of rotation of seats 



ALONG THE THAMES 103 

was devised, and it proved successful. The company 
was divided into three sections. Each section took 
a coach or the brake for one full day, and the next 
day changed. As to the adjustment of each section, 
courtesy, usually, but, if not, then lot decided the 
matter, and in this and all subsequent coaching trips 
I never saw disagreement or disappointment. 

Mr. Franklin seemed to be in his best mood as 
we left Oxford. The "King's Arms," where his daugh- 
ter was hostess, had given us a royal lunch, at which 
we tasted the best home-cured hams we had ever 
known, and the local photographer had captured us 
just as we were mounted and ready to say " Go!" 
.Mr. Franklin's face was this day unusually rotund, 
his silk hat had on an extra polish, and his long, yel- 
lowish overcoat, down to his feet, gave him the full 
air of a man of authority over well-bred horses and 
his assistants, which was all he assumed to be. He 
never cared a particle for natural sights, nor for his- 
torical associations, but he loved his " 'orses " and 
was perfectly at home behind them. He was com- 
panionable, if you drew him out, and he was the soul 
of honor, but his eaily education had not been in the 
direction of the English classics, nor even of English 
politics. I could engage his attention on every ordi- 
nary theme of daily life, but never on any of the great 
men whose homes we wished to see, nor did he care 
for anything unknown to him unless he had proven it 
to be good. I suppose he would rather have driven 
five extra miles a day on a road he knew than to try 
a road put down on the maps as good, but which he 
did not know, and yet he always conformed to my re- 
quests. This conservatism was not his alone; it is 
part of the heritage bequeathed by his country to 
every native-born Englishman. 



104 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

We bowled out of Oxford at a five-minute gait; 
just thirty-eight persons, every one the picture of ani- 
mation, and every horse with bright harness, polished 
skins and erect heads. The whips cracked, the horns 
blew, the flag of our homeland floated to the breeze 
from the top of a fishing rod, and we felt ourselves 
possessed of some of the blood-royal, on the way, 
perhaps, to see our forefathers' mammoth estates in 
Wiltshire or in Hants. The day was one of those 
rare English midsummer clays when the tonic of its 
clear, sweet air, redolent of hay and of a myriad of tiny 
white daisies, filled our minds and imparted to our 
souls unutterable peace. 'Twas — 

" the bridal of the earth and sky," 

and I know good George Herbert, had he been still 
living beyond the western borders of Hants, to which 
we were soon to wend our way, would have been swal- 
lowed up this day in his thoughts of calm content- 
ment toward God and man, as he listened to the voices 
of feathered songster, the hum of bee, and the ca- 
dences of the soft west wind. We could almost hear 
him in his medley saying: ' 

" Hark, how the birds do sing, 
And woods do ring! 
All creatures have their joy, and man hath his. 
Yet if rightly measure, 
Man's joy and pleasure 
Rather hereafter than in present is." 

Everywhere were greensward, dense foliage, ripening 
harvests, flower-covered cottages, gentle streams, the 
latter one by one merging into the Thames. Once 
we saw a church so pretty that it seemed as if we must 
stop to worship in it. 

The Thames is a curious river in all its course 



ALONG THE THAMES 



105 



from Oxford to the North Sea, but never more so 
than between Oxford and Dorchester, where it prob- 
ably winds about for twenty miles to make seven. 
At Iffley, the first village out from ( )xford, we were 
within rifle shot of the Thames; then we wholly lost 
it till beyond Shillingford. In the meantime it had 



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"Once We Saw a Church so Pretty." 



coiled up as a snake in its rest from a gorgement. 
There is at Iffley one of the oldest churches in the land, 
an architectural curiosity, the church of St. Mary, 
perfect in specimens of early Xorman. We saw it 
from a distance only and did not see " the mill," which 
is the object of such great devotion on the part of 



106 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

Oxford artists. Before reaching Shillingford came 
Dorchester, ten miles from Oxford, and a half-mile 
off from the Thames. As we reined up before the 
small " George " inn, the whole party sprang to the 
ground and hastened into the Abbey church across 
the way. It was an unexpectedly charming church 
edifice. Dorchester is rated as having twelve hun- 
dred people, but where they were we could not guess ; 
it is a town now humble and small as well as ancient. 
But what a history it has! For centuries before and 
until after the Norman conquest it was full of highly 
decorated churches. It was the seat of a Roman see, 
and its Abbey was the wonder of the kingdom. Its 
architectural features, as related to its early age (the 
present edifice dates from about 1290) was magnifi- 
cent, and the size of the structure is still palatial, cov- 
ering 10,000 square feet of ground. Happily the rec- 
tor himself showed us over it, as it is now a regular 
place of English worship. It has a fine Jesse window 
in the chancel, five hundred years old, with effigies in 
stone of the descendants of David, and the general 
and detailed merits of pillars and roof and decorations 
engaged a full half-hour's attention. The tradition, 
perhaps the history, is that Birinus, a monk of the 
Benedictine order of Rome, who came to England 
as a missionary in 634, found here at Dorchester al- 
ready a large Saxon settlement. Cynegil, the Saxon 
king, whom he baptized, and the monk together built 
an edifice on this precise spot and Birinus labored 
in it for fourteen years, dying two years later. Can 
one ever forget the luxuriant and massive chestnut 
tree against the western gate, or the picture together 
made by the tree and by the Abbey? I should love 
to have that scene every Sabbath morning and then 
esteem mvself rich indeed. How manv who now 



A.LONG THE THAMES 107 

worship there ever think of that exquisite bit of com- 
bined nature and art? Almost as memorable an event 
was the brief inspection permitted of the parish 
school, close to the church, where boys and girls of 
from eight to fourteen years of age were studying 
■"The Three R's." The building was once the gate- 
house of the Abbey. A dozen tow-headed boys were 
on the floor, struggling with examples in arithmetic. 
The sight of us put them in merry humor, and the 
sight of them put us in fine spirits. We mutually 
smiled, but this, as to the boys, the teacher sternly 
reproved. Their seats were long benches and their 
•desks of the same length, and as plain as ever were 
used in a common school-house in a wilderness. Evi- 
dently the parish work would fit no pupil for a high 
•school in our country, but I presume the children were 
poor and were expected to obtain only the rudiments. 
The rector's wife appeared before we left, and, on her 
announcement that she was American born, we con- 
ceived an attachment to her which she reciprocated. 
She saluted our flag and we saluted her, and she told 
tis our visit was much too short. 

The fate of Dorchester as a city whose whole im- 
portance now is its Past, seems to have been brought 
about by two small incidents. The one has been al- 
luded to; the mere transference of a bishopric. The 
other was the change in the use of a public road! 
There was " a Great Road " from London, which ran 
through it toward the north, and this brought busi- 
ness, people and goods to Dorchester. About the 
middle of the Twelfth Century that " Great Road " 
"was changed: Dorchester was no longer on it. Then 
it began to decay until it became in a few centuries 
what it now is. an agricultural village, and if it were 



108 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

not for its church, I doubt if anyone at all would 
reside there from choice. 

Just below Shillingford we crossed the Thames; 
here it is a small stream, say only thirty yards wide. 
Then it bent clear out of our way till at Wallingford, 
the home of Sir William Blackstone; a town said to> 
be mentioned in Caesar's " Commentaries;" a place- 
still possessing the scant remains of an old Norman 
castle of the Twelfth Century, in which the Empress 
Matilda took refuge till her son, Henry II., came to> 
her rescue at the close of the Civil War of 1141. Un- 
fortunately for my recollection of the life of Black- 
stone, I passed entirely through the town before it 
dawned upon me that his life had stated that this was 
his burial-place. I could then see behind me the spire 
of St. Peter's, which.it is said he had erected when he 
was recorder of Wallingford, two years before his 
death, and underneath which are his honored bones. 
There was no time to return. Since then, however,. 
I have passed this way again and again. The church 
is certainly worth a visit, if only to see the tomb of the 
great commentator. Blackstone lived across the 
Thames from Wallingford in Castle Priory, on a lib- 
eral estate (in acres) now or lately the residence of 
Hayllor, the subject painter, and next to the present 
estate of G. D. Leslie, the author. He must often- 
have had Wallingford's main church steeple in full 
sight toward the sunset ; perhaps it was one of the last 
earthly sights he saw. Born in London and left an 
orphan when twelve, he progressed so rapidly in the 
school in that metropolis that at fifteen he entered 
Pembroke University, Oxford. He gained his fame 
in London. I have often looked at the windows of 
his plain rooms in Brick Court, Temple, and won- 
dered if it were true that Goldsmith, whose habita- 



AI.m\<; THE THAMES 



109 



tion was in Xo. 2 on the floor above (up two pair of 
stairs, to the right) made so much noise with his revel- 
ries and mirth that the mighty writer of law commen- 
taries was, as it is related, " vexed beyond measure." 
I judge that Sir William went to Wallingford, where 
an uncle resided, about 1750, at first to secure rest 




Church of St. Peter's, Wallingford. 

and quiet during certain months, then because falling 
heir to this estate. At all events, being charmed with 
the peace and rural beauty of the vicinity, he made it 
his la>t abiding place. His wonderful "Commen- 
taries " are said never to have been intended for the 
press, but solely as lectures to his Oxford students, 



no BRIGHT DAYS IN MERBIB ENGLAND 

for he became a member of the faculty of the Univer- 
sity in 1758. He published the lectures in 1765 and 
1769. He was only fifty-six when he died (in 1780), 
but he left a name as an author of common law which 
filled two continents with his fame. His four vol- 
umes are to-day to the law student what King James's 
Bible has long been to the English tongue, a " well 
of knowledge pure and undefiled." To the end of 
time it is doubtful whether any work treating of the 
same fundamental legal principles will ever be worthy 
of this monumental predecessor. 

Towns shrink as well as grow abroad, and Wal- 
lingford is one which, if it lives long enough, may 
become unknown to the map makers. It formerly had 
not only Sir William Blackstone as its most distin- 
guished citizen, but it had fourteen churches. Now 
it has about three churches and no men of whom the 
world takes note. In the days of Edward the Confes- 
sor it had two hundred and seventy-six houses pay- 
ing taxes to the king; it can hardly have as many 
now. It did have a castle at the time of the Conquest, 
and it was one of mark; and a prison for princes. 
Now it has trees above a mound and a small bit of 
wall, and this is all to connect the town with those 
earlier ages. 

The coaches hastened by Wallingford because of 
the long drive ahead. We were still sixteen miles 
from Reading, and the afternoon was wearing away. 
This portion of the road is wholly beautiful. There 
are constant glimpses of the river and of broad 
meadows on either hand, and we saw pleasure par- 
ties on small steamers on the Thames, who waved 
their handkerchiefs and shouted at us, perhaps be- 
cause attracted by our flag. There were also house- 
boats here and there, and I quite envied those fortu- 



A.LONO THE THAMES m 

nate enough to own one of them. At Moulsford, where 
the trial eights of Oxford University are rowed, and 
then at Streatley, there are exceptional views of the 
river. Somewhere near Moulsford a comical runa- 
way, which might have been serious enough to have 
taken life, occurred by the wayside. A little donkey 
was before us in the road, attached to a small cart, 
in which was a woman, evidently a governess, driv- 
ing, with two children, five and seven years of age. 
The donkey would not allow us to pass. Mr. Frank- 
lin tried twice to pass, carefully, and at last nearly 
succeeded, when the donkey started on a gallop as 
if to run away. The poor harness broke, and the 
donkey left the shafts. These, falling down, tumbled 
out the children on their heads, and also the woman, 
whose feet were high in the air, but who persistently 
clung to the lines as long as possible. The donkey 
ran fifty yards, stopped and looked around, as much 
as to say: "What is the matter, anyhow?" The 
children cried, one being slightly hurt on the head, 
but more frightened than injured. The woman re- 
fused to state if hurt or not, and her ugly temper and 
air of imperilled innocence compelled us to smile 
after passing her, even against our will. Of course 
we first saw that a passer-by had taken fraternal 
charge of donkey and cart and its late contents, and 
knew they would receive proper attention. 

With the Thames lovingly hugging the road on 
the left, we spun along past fields of grain, poppies 
and English walnuts to Streatley, where, if there is a 
more picturesque, old-fashioned hotel than the " Bull " 
I have never found it. Architecturally and in its sur- 
roundings it is the perfection of artistic taste. Even 
in the backyard garden the flowers and the tiny re- 
treats are so many unique treasure-troves to sight 



U2 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

and sense. Every room in the hotel was occupied 
with summer boarders, though the house was large. 
The small street leading to the river, and to Goring, 
on the opposite side, contained a dozen or more vine- 
covered and rose-ornamented houses, which, while 
humble enough in size, some kings of the earth would 
envy. We went down to the water and had a first 
row on the Thames. None will ever forget the ex- 
quisite combined pastoral and water scene, with the 
dipping bushes and the pond lilies in the foreground, 
and the square tower of Goring church, set between 
gigantic elms, in the distance. The old Roman road, 
the Ichnield, crossed the Thames at this precise 
point, and in the vicinity have been found Roman 
coins, pavements, structures and barrows. The horses 
needed a long rest at Streatley, and this gave us time 
not only to boat but to climb the high hill back of the 
village to secure a view of the whole charming valley. 
Such a view is rare. The historic river meandered 
in the centre, among fields full of clover and the scent 
of new-mown hay, and near and far wide-spreading 
trees, green as emerald, extended miles and miles 
away. Wild flowers and animate life were singing 
their songs together. Jean Ingelow knew just how 
to describe a scene like this: " 

" An empty sky, a world of heather, 
Purple of foxglove, yellow of bloom; 
We two among them wading together 
Shaking out honey, treading perfume. 

" Crowds of bees are giddy with clover, 

Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet; 
Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, 
Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet." 

Now for the final afternoon's spurt to Reading. 
The road was as a marble floor. Resort after resort for 



ALONG THE THAMES 113 

" Londoners." as all boarders here were termed, were 
passed; Bassildon; Pangbourne, with its notably 
fine boathouse; Purley Hall; Roebuck, where lived 
Pope's friend, Martha Blount; and soon the long- 
stretch of brick rows, blocks and blocks of two-story 
houses, built all after the same pattern for working- 
men, which form the entrance to the city of Reading. 
We reined up before the " Queen's" at seven P. M.; 
we had left Oxford at one-thirty or later. We had 
coached about thirty-six miles, and rested on the way 
fully two hours. 




'■'■The Squirrels were Scampering on the Trees and I'ines." 



IX.— READING AND THREE-MILE CROSS. 



READING IS at a proper distance from Oxford 
to make it a good stopping place for the night, 
but is too modern to be handsome and too his- 
torically dull to be attractive. It covers plenty of 
ground, for its main street alone seems to be an end- 
less road after one first touches the suburbs and until 
he reaches the " Queen's." In most places a crowd 
collected as soon as the coaches were drawn up before 
an inn, but here either there was no curiosity in that 
direction, or everybody was better employed. The 
" Queen's " has a good name and is managed with fair 
oversight, but was too small for our sufficient accom- 
modation and this not owing to meagre size, but 
rather to the amount of business travel to that city 
and the inadequacy of hotels. There is a good, but 
small, railway hotel, and one or two trifling ones be- 
side, over butchers' shops or with other queer sur- 
roundings, and these undertake to care for the entire 
traveling public in that city of fifty thousand inhab- 
itants. 

Has Reading any attractions for the traveler 
except the Huntley & Palmer biscuit factory, employ- 
ing perhaps four thousand hands, and the old Abbey? 
If it has, I did not see them. It does have a fine 
park adjoining the Abbey. But the Abbey itself is a 



READING AND THREE-MILE CROSS 115 

delightful ruin; not as large or well preserved as Tin- 
tern, or Furness, or Melrose, but in its way almost tan- 
talizingly attractive. It is such a gem as it stands, 
that one wonders bow magnificent it would be were 
its full walls and all its dimensions still visible, in~ 
stead of the plain and pretty soft velvet sward sur- 
rounding its present small bit of ruins. Of architec- 
ture it lias too little left to give an idea of wbat it was. 
What remains is covered with the best specimens of 
that incomparable ivy, which lends grace to every- 
thing old in tins land of religion and story. And its 
history is equal to that of an) of the abbeys, being a 
romantic, useful epilogue to prolonged good deeds 
and mistaken piety. Several times 1 have pondered 
over its long life and inglorious death, and always 
with thoughts uppermost of the Abbot whose beef 
Henry VIII. so hastily demolished, when that glutton 
had been a-hunting and was well nigh famished. Of 
course everybody has read the story, but it will bear 
telling once more. Henrv was hunting in his Wind- 
sor forests and lost his way. He discovered at last 
that he was near the residence of the Abbot of Read- 
ing. Now Henry did not like the monks, but he did 
want a square meal, and he knew no Abbot house was 
without the choicest viands and plenty of them. So he 
made himself at home, disguised as a tired huntsman, 
and the two, the unknown king and the churchman, 
sat down to the repast. A sirloin of good dimensions 
came on and the king squared himself for the biggest 
share of it. The Abbot saw it disappearing fast, but 
kept his peace. At last, however, when it was nearly 
gone, he exclaimed to this stranger guest: "Well 
fare thy heart, for here in a cup of sack I remember 
thy master. I would give £100 could I feed so lustily 
on beef as you do. Alas! my queasy stomach will 



IK. BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIB ENGLAND 

hardly digest the wing of a chicken.'* The King 
pledged his host in wine and departed. A month or 
so later Henry ordered the Abbot taken to the Tow- 
er of London and fed on bread and water. When 
well empty the King ordered a sirloin of beef set be- 
fore him, and the Abbot made of himself a glutton. 
Just as he was finishing the repast, the King sprang 
out of a closet and said: " My lord, deposit at once 
your iioo of gold, or else return not to Reading for 
the rest of your life. I have been your physician to 
cure your queasy stomach and now I demand my fee 
for the service." The Abbot returned to Reading 
lighter in purse and heavier in heart, for he loved his 
money and hated Henry well. It did not take long af- 
ter for Henry to suppress the monasteries, but what 
became of the Abbot of Reading the storv does not 
tell. 

Queen Elfrida, wife of King Edgar, who founded 
Reading Abbey, also founded Amesbury Abbey for 
nuns, and, if both were really as an atonement for her 
sin of bringing about the death of Edgar's son Rich- 
ard, she did a worthy deed and proved her penitence. 
Her nun's abbey the Danes soon burnt down. Then 
(1121) Henry I. founded a new edifice, but this time 
for men, and he endowed it with enough sources of 
revenue to support two hundred monks. There were 
few such rich and independent abbeys as this, for its 
superior could confer knighthood, coin money, pun- 
ish criminals and otherwise lord it well over other 
inferior bodies. The founder gave to Reading Abbey, 
as a relic, the head of the Apostle James, without being 
too minute as to its origin, and the next Henry (II.)> 
or his Empress Maud, added to it St. James's hand; 
and that hand, by the way, has at least a romantic his- 
tory. It came over from Germany in a case of gold. 



READING AND THREE-MIDE CROSS 117 

Richard I. had need for the gold, and took it, though 
he retained a little tinselling of that metal to cover 
the hand itself. One day the relic disappeared. About 
the beginning of this century it was discovered by 
workmen digging amid the ruins, and it can now be 
seen in the Reading museum. It is the left hand of 
a human being, half closed, with the flesh dried on 
the bones. King' Henry I. and his two queens, Matil- 
da and Adeliza, and his daughter Aland, also \nne. 
Countess of Warwick, and at least a half score more 
persons of note were laid to rest in the Abbey, but, 
alas! their bones have now no tombs above them, 
and perhaps they have been scattered to the winds. 
It is interesting to muse by the Reading Abbey 
over the celebrated trial by wager of battel which oc- 
curred here in 1163, at which time Henry 11. sat as 
judge. The King's standard bearer, Henry of Es- 
sex, was accused by Robert de Montfort of treach- 
ery and cowardice in an engagement in Wales. Hen- 
ry did not deny that at the skirmish he had east away 
the royal standard and fled, but he averred that he 
believed the report that his sovereign was killed, and 
hence the flight. Splendid must have been the scene; 
the King and the spectators in a circle, tin- two royal 
favorites girt with swords and armor in tin; centre, 
and the supreme moment at hand. The issne was to be 
death to one, perhaps death to both, and justice as to 
the scandal would thus be satisfied. Montforl won. 
He killed his adversary, or seemed to do so. Essex's 
body was delivered over to the Abbe) monks for 
burial. The actual transaction occurred a little dis- 
tance away on the island in the Thames by Caver- 
sham bridge. When Essex was at the Abbey he re- 
covered! And, while he lost his estate-, he was per- 
mitted to be a monls and there to end his days. 



n8 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

Reading had as many sittings of Parliaments be- 
tween the Thirteenth and Sixteenth Centuries as it 
deserved, and they sat in the Abbey's great hall, the 
remains of which are now the chief of what is left of 
these interesting ruins. 




Leaving Hie Queen's Hotel, Reading. 



It is pretty nearly a straight pull south from Read- 
ing, of sixteen miles or more, to reach the old capital 
of the kingdom of England. The road, like the coun- 
try, is rolling in places, and all the views rural and ex- 
hilarating. J was anxious to get a glimpse on the 



READING AND THREE-MILE CROSS 119 

way of Three-Mile Cross, and, sure enough, we 
passed directly through it. It is a straggling village, 
of no beauty, but of immortal renown. Miss Mary 
Russell Mitford, when she first moved there with 
her father, who, as a neer-do-well, had drawn a £20- 
000 prize in a lottery, and then left Reading and set 
up as a man of leisure in this unattractive village, 
wrote (it was in 1820): '* We have only moved a mile 
nearer Reading — to a little village street situate on 
the turnpike road, beside Basingstoke and the afore- 
said illustrious and quarrelsome borough. Our resi- 
dence is a cottage — no, not a cottage, it does not de- 
serve the name; a messuage or tenement, such as a 
little farmer might return to when he left off business 
to live on his means. It consists of a series of clos- 
ets, the largest of which may be about eight feet 
square, which they call parlors, and kitchens, and pan- 
tries. Behind is a garden about the size of a good 
drawing-room, with an arbor, which is a complete 
sentry box of privet. On one side a public house, 
on the other a village shop, and right opposite a cob- 
bler's stall." And here she was yet in 1850, thirty 
years later! Then, however, she desired to remove, 
but only to a similar place a little distance off, where 
she said in a letter to Mrs. Browning: " I only want 
a cottage with a good bed-room, a decent sitting- 
room, and, perhaps, two odd rooms, anywhere, for 
books; for I find upon taking stock that I shall have 
from 5,000 to 6,000." She obtained it and she died. 
So for the most of her active literary life, in fact from 
her thirty-fourth to her sixty-fourth year, Miss Mit- 
ford lived in this " series of closets " nearly all the 
time, with a father who was " the delight of the town 
loafers " and one of the greatest spendthrifts of his 
time, yet an educated and somewhat gifted man. 



120 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

Then she went to die, hard by, in Swallow-field, where 
she wrote: " The scenery is delightful and the neigh- 
bors most kind and pleasant!" Poor, dear, good, 
proud, great soul; I pity you a life at Three-Mile 
Cross for thirty years. And yet what splendid friends 
she had to visit her. Here came the great of her 
country, and even Daniel Webster, whom she charac- 
terized as " the noblest looking man I ever saw, both 
in face and in person," went from London to Three- 
Mile Cross to see this wondrously bright woman. 
The square, stone house, of no pretensions architec- 
turally, sets out close to the street and now bears the 
title on its front: "Temperance House, 7 ' for it is an 
inn. 

It had not been contemplated to leave the beaten 
route to Winchester, but a lucky inquiry as to how 
we might see the great estate of Strathfieldsaye, pre- 
sented by the nation to the Duke of Wellington after 
the battle of Waterloo, led to our turning aside to 
pass directly through it. Few Americans visit it, but 
it is almost par excellence among the estates of the old 
world for naturalness of trees and fields. Stur- 
dy old oaks, six feet through, have habitation 
here, and no doubt existed long before " the foremost 
man of his age " was born. The squirrels w r ere scamp- 
ering on the trees and vines. There are cedars of Leb- 
anon over one hundred feet high in the park, and, it 
is said, some of the most superb tulip trees in Eng- 
land. There are also chestnut trees raised from nuts 
which were sent to the Duke from America, gathered 
from A It. Vernon, trees planted by Washington's own 
hand. King George IV. and King William, and al- 
so Queen Victoria and her noble husband have each 
been entertained here. There were pleasant fields and 
herds of deer for the enjoyment of the heirs of the 



READING AXU THREE-MILE CROSS 121 

" Iron Duke." What did the Duke do on this noble 
estate? Let us see. Says Timbs: 'The habits of 
the Duke at Strathfieldsaye were quiet, unostenta- 
tious and philosophic. He breakfasted with his com- 
pany at ten; retired to his own room afterwards; de- 
voted several hours to his endless correspondence, ex- 
cept on hunting days, and went out, either to ride or 
to walk, about two. Seven was his dinner hour; and 
after tea he formed one at a quiet rubber of whist, 
when the stakes played for never exceeded five-shil- 
ling points.'.' We had no time to enter the buildings, 
which were roomy but plain, and in which are the 
camp bed and other memorials of the Duke. 

Names are curious everywhere, when you come 
to ponder them. " Strathfieldsaye:" what in the 
world could have originated such a name? 1 grew 
interested to learn about it. "Strath." or " strat " 
seems to have meant, originally, a " stretch " of 
ground, with elevated lands 011 each side. "Say" 
was the name of the original owner. So it was a level 
stretch of land, owned by Mr. Say: " Strath-field- 
" The name goes back far beyond the days of 
Richard II. The first Sir William Pitt, an ancestor 
of the Earl of Chatham, owned it in Richard's time. 
England took so kindly to the " Iron Duke" when 
Xapoleon fell that nothing was too good for him. 
and on this great acreage an elegant mansion was to 
have been erected. But the mansion came not: tin 
former long, low structure of stone still remains. It 
reminds one of Mount Vernon, because the main 
house is the centre of various outlying buildings, 
making up almost a little village of houses surround- 
ing the mansion. The onh great spectacle about it 
now i-^ the splendid vista of trees and expanse of tin- 
tilled ground. King William and Queen Adelaide. 



BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

and Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, were pleased 
to come hither to visit the " nation's favorite." Miss 
Mitford's letter to Miss Barrett (afterward Mrs. 
Browning), written in " Autumn, 1844," describes 
Victoria's presence, and how at the corner of the 
road Miss Mitford had all the children of Swallow- 
field, two hundred and ninety of them, " with hand 
flags of pink and white " march to the spot where 
the Duke took leave of the Oneen, to do her honor. 
Our coaches passed the point of road where the event 
must have occurred, but it was as quiet as a spot in 
the wilderness. So do all great events pass and Na- 
ture neither makes ado over them, nor rears memo- 
rials. 

It was full noon as we reached Basingstoke, and 
I found this to be a " right smart " place of eight 
thousand people, stragglingly and illy built, yet with 
a business air. There was an election in progress — 
had been for two or three days — for a member of 
Parliament, and the contest was sharp; furthermore, 
we were told there were inducements for votes not a 
few. I was accosted by one voter as follows: " I 
wish you'd a'vote for my mon; he's th' better of the 
two be far; he's not a Timperance crank." Did he 
suppose I could do it unchallenged? More probably 
"he was only boozy. Rum was not scarce, if one could 
judge from appearances. The town boasts that its 
first charter came from Charles I., but it sent mem- 
bers to Parliament when Edward I. was king, three 
hundred and fifty years before; so it has an ancient 
history. We found <l The Feathers " hotel to be well 
managed by a Mr. Aylward, who had made a tour 
in America as an organist a few years before, and who 
regretted that he had not remained under the pro- 
tection of the Stars and Stripes. The lunch Mr. Ayl- 



READING AND THREE-MILE (ROSS 125 

ward gave us was not unlike all others on our tours, 
but the " joints " were superb and the cheese tiptop. 
When we had washed our hands in the tin wash-basin 
in a small room, and wended our way into the low- 
ceiled, antique-looking dining-room, we had not 
looked for much that was appetizing, but we found it. 

Aside from the election 1 was most interested in 
having a " tupenny *' shave, for I have never had it 
done before quite so cheaply. The shave was well 
enough, though only about forty seconds long, but 
to wash my face afterward in a basin, and to dry it 
myself and to brush my own hair with no help from 
the barber, was novel, and so the twopence proved 
hot so cheap. This often occurred later, but usually 
threepence or fourpence was charged. Speaking of 
shaving reminds me of a long discussion I once had 
in London with a first-class barber on the Strand, as 
to the desirability of barber chairs, American fashion. 
He held his own in the negative well, and these were 
his two arguments: 1. " Our people don't know of 
them." 2. " When they do. they won't have them." 
He then proved his point. Said he: " I was at the 
Chicago World's Fair. I saw your chairs, was delight- 
ed with them, bought two, and had them shipped to 
London, and put them where those two chairs are 
now," pointing to the plain, hard, straightbacks of the 
time of King Canute. " My patrons refused to sit 
in them. I had to sell them as second-hand furniture 
at nearly a dead loss." Englishmen not of the work- 
ing classes do not go to barber shops; they shave 
themselves. And the laboring man wants his " tupen- 
ny " shave in the same way his grandfather had it. 

Near Basingstoke, JEthelred and Alfred, in the 
year 871, fought a hard battle with the Danes fourteen 
davs after the battle at Ashdown. 



124 



BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 



It is a beautiful drive of nearly twenty miles, al- 
most as straight as an arrow, and over a nearly level 
road from Basingstoke to Winchester. We passed 
Stratton Park, the home of the Earl of Northbrook, 
and various well-wooded estates, and the country 
scenes are far-reaching- and wholly English. At one 
inn. the " Cowherd," I think, there was a well three 
hundred and sixty feet deep and no water. We were 
told we must go a mile and a half to refresh the horses 
with so common a beverage. There was beer in 
plentv. however. Other curiously named inns were 
" The Flower Pot Inn " and " The Cart and Horse." 

At last we entered the most interesting of the an- 
cient capitals of the three old kingdoms, in the fusion 
of which blossomed into flower the ripened monarchy 
of a united England. Whoever enters it should tarry 
two or three days in order to become inbued with its 
former spirit and to be made familiar with its glori- 
ous and undimmed associations. 




Ruins of Hyde Abbey. (.From ./// O/J Print:) 



X.— THE EARLIEST ENGLISH CAPITAL. 

AT WINCHESTER we drove to " The George." 
There are two excellent old hotels in the city 
and of them '* The George " is one. The cor- 
dial welcome we received on a Saturday night made 
us feel most comfortable and eager for the rest of ap- 
proaching Sunday. The host and hostess were pe- 
culiarly hospitable. It seemed in going to our room 
as if we were traveling a mile or less up and around 
stairs, and over alleys above the street, to reach our 
destined chambers; but when within them they were 
full of old-fashioned comfort. The dining-room was 
attractive, with its candles on tall candelabra. For we 
did have candles, in bed-room and elsewhere, and 
they took us far back to our grandfathers' days. 
The host and hostess.. Mr. and Mrs. Pettit, were not 
over forty and thirty-five respectively, and really made 
themselves (most English proprietors do) agreeable; 
everything was not left to a porter. The exterior of 
" The George " is a plain three and one-half story 
building. It is believed the same site had a hostelry 
famous in the days of the Plantagenet kings. The 



i 2 6 BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

owners said that in Edward I.'s time a Montesfont 

family owned it, and it is on record that in 141 o one 
John Montesfont passed it over to Mark le Fayre, a 
leading Winchester citizen. That was in the days of 
Henry V., a hundred years hefore the first Tudor 
king came to the throne. Then, as now, it was bound- 
ed by High street, the Lane and Jewry street, and it 
was called "The Moon." By 1417 it became defi- 
nitely known as " The George Inn." Other hotels, 
" The Sun," " The Star," and " The Chequer," were 
contemporary, as were two in the market-place, called, 
respectively, and perhaps appropriately, " Paradise " 
and " Hell." So, for four hundred and eighty-five 
years at least, the great men of the kingdom who came 
to Winchester, and the judges, barristers, and others 
who attended an important court in Assize time, 
roomed at " The George." What stories of such its 
walls might tell! 

One can hardly realize or express his feelings at 
sleeping over night in an inn which was a hundred and 
fifty years old when Queen Elizabeth began to reign, 
and which had been eighty years in operation before 
Columbus started to find the New r World. Every 
room seems to have had a name, and many such 
names still remain above the doors in queer old Eng- 
lish text. For example, there are: " Adam and Eve," 
"The Mermaid," "The Fleur-de-lis," "The Bull." 
' The Lion," " The Green Dragon," and so on. For- 
ty-six such rooms were mentioned in 1655. The inn, 
as it now stands, was rebuilt in the last century, but 
much of the old was allowed to remain. In the ladies' 
parlor are painted pictures on the wall, considered by 
many not unworthy of a Hogarth. I presume " The 
George " at Winchester has been known as well to 
every public man in London or vicinity from 1410 



THE EARLIEST ENGLISH CAPITAL 127 




128 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

to the present date as any spot in the kingdom, save 
Westminster Abbey and the Tower, and the thought 
of it was to me a mental vision like an ocean full of 
wavelets. An old, quaint spot; a good place to rest 
in on a Sabbath day- 
Sunday morning proved to be as bright as it ever 
was in Eden. It soon found me passing down High 
street and turning through a small alley by the City 
Cross. The Cross is of the reign of Henry VI., who 
died in 1461, and is striking in its height and apparent 
antiquity. Through a narrow lane, and by greens- 
ward and magnificent rows of limes, I reached the 
Cathedral, which was over four centuries in building, 
or almost from the Norman Conquest (1066) to the 
Reformation. It is the largest in England, being 
five hundred and fifty-six feet long and two hundred 
and thirty feet wide at the transepts, and covers one 
and one-half acres. The only imposing view is on the 
north side; but the front is plain and substantial, 
though not wonderful nor splendid. Perhaps few 
would praise Winchester Cathedral, exteriorly, espe- 
cially with its low tower, though it has some grandeur 
and is surrounded by scenes of quiet verdure and 
calm repose. The bells are sweet and loud, and, as 
they rang out long and clear and deep, their music 
that Sabbath morning made the day seem like a holy 
day. Their first notes came upon the ear like a celestial 
hymn. And the air was so cool, so calm, so sweet. 
If there was ever a moment in my life when the skies 
seemed to come down and touch the earth, woo it as 
a bridegroom his bride, and lift up everything fallen 
or worldly to heights of pure felicity and heavenly 
stillness, it was that morning, as the great bells gave 
the preliminary call to service. For a long time I 
stood still and mused upon the scene. Then another 



THE EARLIEST ENGLISH CAPITAL 129 

and myself entered the edifice and followed the bell- 
ringer np to some rooms over the original Norman 
church, where he explained to us the machinery, 
which dispensed with manual labor in putting wind 
into the big organ. I observed that the architecture 
in this transept was clear-cut Norman and well pre- 
served. But we soon passed out again to view the 
exterior, as service was beginning, and we did not 
then desire to stay. The day was warm as well as 
bright, and birds were singing in the limes without. 
Somehow I felt that the Winchester of the days of 
King Alfred was, for a time, in my possession, and 
almost realized how much the spot was to men in the 
days when it was Old England's capital. It was so 
hrgely Old England at this Winchester, instead of 
England of the present, that every thought of the 
mind and every emotion of the heart reverted to the 
feudal ages. 

After luncheon, I visited the Great Hall of Win- 
chester Castle, a five-minutes walk up the street, on 
a slight elevation of ground. The custodian could 
point out only the foundation walls in one small cor- 
ner of the rear yard of the original Castle on this site. 
That set me to contemplating anew the history, writ- 
ten and unwritten, of this memorable city and espe- 
cially of that site, and the more I meditated over it, 
the more there arose visions of days when the Cae- 
sars came to Britain, when temples to heathen gods 
stood on the cathedral's ground, and when, on this 
very castle-site, Roman guards stood erect with 
shield and armor, with axe and bow. No one knows 
when first arose on that elevated bit of ground the 
walls that defended the city from the Danes, but they 
went up so early in the far-away centuries that all the 
history of Egbert of Wessex, of the mighty Alfred, 






I : I : I « ; 1 1 'I OAYH IN M Kit III K EXOLAXD 



of , V.t I m1 re< I the Unready, of ( anute, of 1 1 avoid and of 
Hardicanute, Hows to and from this central scene, as 
the waves of th< ocean beal aboul the base of the 
I dd t< >ne and all the while the foi I ifi< al ion tood, 
in i to challenge and then to protei I the fier< e kings 
of thai unsettled era. F01 more than a thousand 

'.ii ' astle liill must have seen strife and blood iii 

the view of Saxon, Danish, Norman and Angevine 
i ing 1 1 aw William Rufus starl i »n thai hum 
i pedition from which he never returned alive Then 
m William the ( onqueror, warrior Norman; the 
walls thai had witnessed many a battle were razed, 
and there aro e on thi ame ute ;i newer, stronger 
and more gigantic ' astle, -.oleum and stately, aftei the 
mannei of his day. A fitting memorial to th< ing 
handed combal with which the issue of one of the 
early struggles had been de< ided on this precise 
ground by Guy of Warwick and the Danish giant! 
rounded by liis palace, the residence of his bishop 
and the mansion of the nobility, William made the 
new- Castle his home, the seal of Ins military strength, 
the beacon of Ins alien court. He probably erected 
the very same Greal Hall in which we can stand to 
day, and in the adjacenl chambers the masterl) mind 

of tliis foreign leader of new fashions and new de 

ihaped into 01 dei line th< marvellously unto- 
ward elements of Ins new kingdom. As I meditated 
further I discerned the stein figures of Henry I. of 
I ngland, and of Matilda of Scotland, as they wer< 
joined in marriage in the old room near where thai 
Round Table is now hunt; The vision swept for 
.iid to King Stephen and thai curious siege, when 
he captured the citadel from the Empress Maud, 
i li< i ielf fi oin be< i iming his pri sonei . had 
hei own living bod) carried oul like .1 corpse, in a 



THE I. \ IIL1EH1 E OLIf Fl M'l'l \ I, / ;i 

leaden i offin, as the King 1 ion po i ion 

'I li. hifted to th< Robin I food, v. hen 

I f » ■ 1 1 r . [I. and to Ri< hard the Lion In ai I 

ed, ' urned from h 

his nobles in this *ame ' astle. It moved on to I 
John, when the French Dauphin and the confederated 
Barons took hold of it in the Civil War; to H< 
1 1 1., who held it long again 

i ule ' '' ered a hundred 
md who here held th< 
courts of the Fourteenth ( entui md till the 

romance and the glory came nol to an end, li the 
tie foundations c<>\\\<. vould they nol con 

tinue to tell singular tales of Henry \ '.. who 
the Fren< h I Winchester; of 1 1< 

who alv ded on that hill; of Henrj VII.. 

on Arth .'>rn there; and of the m< 

f renry VI I f , in atter reig 

or ( harles V. to Winchester to be entertained within 
vails? Would it not tell of Philip of Spain and his 
ding mi*, of Jam< 

amin 'I ichborne, and of 
held it long 
'I here th 
fully fifteen hundred 

: ground, where i 
Is' building and 
■ 

It must havi 

obi;; 

'I it disi 

1 1. fini- 

thing 



132 



BRKiHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



and eventually a ruin, because a fire demolished what- 
ever was attractive in its weak and nnornamental 
architecture. 

I had been thus far meditating out in the open, in 
view of the original foundations and of Charles II. 's 
ruins, and where towered before me the massive walls 




King Arthur's Round Table. 



of the Great Hall. Then I went again to the Hall it- 
self to examine that wondrous Round Table. What 
is it and what of it? Who made it and who sat be- 
fore it? 

King Arthur's Round Table! — the very name is 
of fascinating interest. Let the doubts thrown upon 
its age come to us as they will, why may we not hurl 



THE EARLIEST ENGLISH CAPITAL 133 

them back from whence they came? King Arthur 
lived in the Sixth Century. Henry \ III. in the Six- 
teenth, and we are in the Twentieth. Who shall say 
that Henry II., when he rebuilt Winchester palace, 
loving the legend of King Arthur, did not hunt his 
domains through to find this relic of the merriest days 
of Merrie England? English oak, like the English na- 
tion, lives forever. It is not very probable that four- 
teen hundred years, or even one thousand years, ago, 
this Round Table was constructed, but what if it was 
a legitimate successor to an older one just like it, 
which the teeth of Time and Use had almost de- 
voured? Anyhow, I like to think not only of the 
Henrys, but of Arthur and his jolly knights, as more 
than once gathered around some of the very oak 
in that table, when Merlyn was guiding the hand of 
state, and Sir Tristram, Sir Launcelot, Sir Galahad and 
Sir Percival had those astounding loves and battles 
which have filled with flowers the earliest era of Brit- 
ish romance. I cannot like the prosaic antiquarian 
who would deprive me of the exquisite pleasure. I 
know that Mr. Smirke (smirk}- name, at best), the so- 
called " wisest " of the investigators who have bitten 
the edge off the table's age, fixes the date of its 
original construction in King Henry VIII. 's time, 
but then I suspect that Mr. Smirke is sometimes 
wrong. It is said to be written of in the days of 
Henry VI., and a bill of " repairs " to this " round 
Tabyll " is to be found in Henry VIII. 's accounts. So 
I think of it as even older than the days when Win- 
chester had ceased to be England's commercial cap- 
ital, and put it back at least some centuries toward 
the times when the Arthurian romances first came 
into circulation, say soon after the knightly days of 
William the Conqueror. For it is an unique and 



134 BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

ancient table, whose origin must have been royal 
and whose use curiously interesting. Some think 
it was " a wheel of fortune." Some a relic of the tra- 
ditions of Celtic nations, when round tables were in 
vogue. Some the seat of justice, where not for jo- 
viality but for judicial decisions, there sat around it 
the king and his " four and twenty knights." As Hen- 
ry VIII. paid a bill for its repair, as it is quite clear 
that Charles V. saw it when he visited Winchester, 
and as the former Castle on the same spot was that of 
the Conqueror, why may we not believe that in any 
event some early descendant of the Norman king 
was an occupant of this board, with his cabinet ad- 
visers around him? The legs of the table are gone 
and so it hangs up against the wall. It is painted 
to form a circle, and is divided into twenty-five white 
and green sections radiating from a centre, which 
centre forms a double rose. In the middle of the 
upper half of the circle is a canopy and a king be- 
neath it, crowned and with an orb and a sword. 
There are words in black letters on the circle, each 
beginning with the letter " S," but to what they refer 
we are not told. Four Other words follow and then 
this inscription in the inner circle: 'This is the 
round table of King Arthur and his twenty-four 
Knights." It is said to be likely that these devices 
were of Henry VIII.'s time, but as to the table I am 
persuaded it is older. 

The environs of Winchester are more than pleas- 
ant; they are positively picturesque. The view from 
St. Giles's Hill, especially, no traveler should miss. 
From this hill I had the best view of the Cathedral, 
the town and the suburbs. And that view was simply 
glorious! The minster, otherwise so plain in ex- 
terior, here becomes superb. The main street runs 



THE EARLIEST ENGLISH CAPITAL 135 

straight before you and ends in the ancient, massive 
Westgate. Parliament Hall and the recently burned 
palace of Charles II. is on yonder hill, where also 
the heads of the three alleged co-conspirators of Sir 
Walter Raleigh were cut off after a form of trial. To 
the north lies Hyde meadow, where the body of King 
Allied is blooming in daisies and cowslips, and to the 
south is Wolsevey Castle ruins and St. Cross's ancient 
hospital, both almost buried in heavy foliage, (ireen 
downs and rounded hills are everywhere beyond. 

At nine o'clock on Monday morning- the Win 
Chester Cathedral was more carefully inspected, under 
the guidance of Mr. Henry Pottle, a verger whom at 
first I believed to be useless, but who proved to be a 
rather remarkable find. He had himself twice 
handled all the human boms of kings in the six wood- 
en mortuary chests over the side screens of the choir, 
and the following inscriptions on these chests are suf- 
ficient to indicate their contents: 

South Side. First ("best from Altar Screen. — " In 
this tomb rests pious King Edred, who nobly gov- 
erned this land of Britain, and died A. D. 955." (Con- 
tains many thigh bones and two skulls). 

South Side. Second Chest. — " King Edmund died 
A. D. 946. Edmund, whom this chest contains, and 
who swayed the regal sceptre while his father was 
living, do thou, ( ) Christ, receive." (Contains five 
skulls and four thigh hones). 

South Side. Third Chest. — " In this and the other 
chest opposite are the remaining bones of Canute* and 

" In June. 1766. some workingmen repairing Winchester Ca- 
thedra] discovered a monument, wherein was contained the body of 
Canute. It was remarkably fresh, had a wreath or circlet round the 
head and several other ornaments, such as gold and silver bands. On 
his tinger was a ring, in which was set a remarkably fine stone: and 
in one of his hands was a silver penny." — (Guide to Winchester). 



i 3 6 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

Rufus, kings; of Emma, queen; and of Wina and 
Alwin, bishops. In this chest A. D. 1661, were pro- 
miscuously laid together the bones of princes and pre- 
lates, which had been scattered about with sacreligi- 
ous barbarity A. D. 1642." 

North Side. First Chest from Pulpit. — This 
chest, with its inscriptions, mingled bones, etc., is 
similar to the one last described. 

North Side. Second Chest. — " Here King Egbert 
(A. D. 839) rests, with King Kenulph (A. D. 714). 
Each bestowed upon us magnificent gifts." 

North Side. Third Chest. — " In this chest lie to- 
gether the bones of Kinegils (A. D. 641) and Ethel- 
wulf (A. D. 857) ; the first was the founder, the latter 
the benefactor of this church, father of Alfred the 
Great." (Contains two skulls and the most of the 
bones of two persons). 

To converse with the man who could tell you that 
old Canute, the Danish King, measured " only five 
feet four," as proved by his skeleton, and who had 
reverently put to final rest the bones of the father of 
Alfred the Great, seemed like personally seeing, after 
death, those wonderfully historic characters.* The 
pages of England's early days were rolled back, and 
I seemed to face the very men whose lives and deeds 
have thrilled school-boys for a thousand years. Next 
to these chests, in interest, was the black tomb of 
William Rufus, killed in the New Forest while hunt- 
ing (opened in Cromwell's day for its relics of gold 
and re-opened in 1868); tomb of Hardicanute, the 
last Danish monarch; Bishop Fox's and Cardinal 
Beaufort's chantries, built over four hundred years 

•This verger, Mr. Pottle, is now dead, but I shall never re-enter 
Winchester Cathedral without remembering his kindly face and en- 
thusiastic courtesy. 



THE EARLIEST ENGLISH CAPITAL 



13- 



ago and far excelling more modern tombs in delicacy 
of fretwork and beauty of design; and Queen Mary's- 
chair in the Chapel of the Guardian Angels, on which 
any one is permitted to sit. The marriage of Mary 
with Philip of Spain took place in the cathedral July,. 
1554. Bishop Gardiner is buried not far away. His 
is the tomb of a man who had transacted affairs of 
state with Henry VIII., Edward VI., Queen Mary, 
Thomas Cromwell. Wolsey, Anne Boleyn, Cranmer; 




Queen Mary's Chair. 



who married Mary to Philip in the Cathedral, who 
was her chancellor, and who managed to die naturally. 
His chantry is worth a visit, and recalls the quotation 
of Shakespeare put in Gardiner's mouth as spoken 
to Wolsey: 

" To be commanded forever, 
By you whose hand has raised me." 

Monday morning, like the day before, was a per- 
fect song of the skies; the scene outside was full of 



i 3 8 BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

rhythm and within the Cathedral looked serenely 
beautiful. Through the great windows the morning 
sun flung its colors of ruby and amethyst on chantries, 
altar screen and tombs. Ere I departed the music 
of the organ, as it rolled down the solemn aisles, 
seemed like the ennobled voice of ten centuries, call- 
ing mankind to praise and prayer. It was a place for 
silence and for thought; a place in which to — 

" Speak low! — the place is holy to the breath 
Of awful harmonies, of whispered prayer; 
Tread lightly! — for the sanctity of death 

Broods with a voiceless influence on the air." 

Benjamin West's picture of the " Raising of Lazarus," 
purchased by the dean in 1782, and hanging in the 
reredos until a recent date, did no discredit to that 
great American painter. I have seen it a number of 
times, but it is now absent; a wealthy American has 
presented it to the Hartford, Connecticut, Atheneum. 
That " Prince of Fishermen," Izaak Walton (died 
1683) is buried in a chapel in the south transept, the 
slab on the floor reading: 

" Here resteth the body of 
MR. IZAAK WALTON. 
Who dyed the 15th of December, 
1683. 
Alas! Hee's gone before, 
Gone, to return none more. 
Our panting breasts aspire, 
After their aged Sire, 
Whose well-spent life did last 
Full ninety years, and past. 
But now he hath begun 
'That which will nere be done, 
Crown'd with eternal Blisse, 
We wish our Souls with his. 
" Yotis modestis sic flerunt liberi." 
[Thus with modest vows his children wept.] 

Bishop Samuel Wilberforce (died 1873) lies near by. 



THE EARLIEST ENGLISH CAPITAL 139 

Jane Austin's grave I found in the north aisle, (died 
181 7). I missed the library, where the signature of 
Alfred, when a hoy, could be seen, and the Vulgate 
MSS. of the Bible (Twelfth Century), hut 1 saw thos< 
rough beams of English oak cut from Pempage For- 
est over eight hundred years ago, which still supporl 
the transept roof. It is stated that the first organ 
ever invented was set up in the Cathedral in 051. and 
it was thus described by a monk of the time in Latin 
verse: 

"Twelve pair of bellows, ranged in stately row. 
Are joined above, and fourteen more below; 
These the full force of seventy men require, 
Who ceaseless toil and plenteously perspire. 
Each aiding each, till all the wind be prest 
In the close confines of the incumbent chest, 
( in which four hundred pipes in order rise. 
To bellow forth the blast that chest supplies." 

The first Christian church planted on this spot 
was by Roman missionaries in A. D. 169, and hence 
for over seventeen hundred years the Gospel has been 
announced on this very ground. Plain, stalwart, vener- 
able house of God, very sacred you are; every stone 
was built up on holy sod and by noble men. who, if 
not as great architects as some others, erected a vast 
and goodly edifice. 

I have never had time, in several visits to this city, 
to look into Winchester College, dating from 1382. 
and which must be of unusual interest. Xor to ex- 
amine St. Cross Church. Xor to do more than casl 
a passing glance at the ruins of Wolsevey Castle. 
But the whole vicinity is deserving of more atten- 
tion than most visitors give to it. As to Wolsevey, 
where Queen Mary was when Philip came from Spain 
to marry her; where King Alfred compiled the "An- 
glo-Saxon Chronicle;" where three hundred wolves' 



I 4 BRIGHT DAlo IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

heads a year were ordered by King Edgar to be deliv- 
ered to him annually so as to rid England of these 
pests (hence the name, Wolsevey Castle), a whole 
book could be written on it and all the facts might 
cast even the Arthurian romances into the shade. 
The city once was walled, but while one can never 
quite forgive Cromwell that he allowed his soldiers 
to demolish all the fine statues in most of the cathe- 
drals, it was doubtless imperative to dismantle the 
cities where his adversaries were strongest, and so 
the loss of Winchester's walls was a necessary evil. 
It would be, to-day, an attractive addition to have the 
city still surrounded with its fortifications of stone. 
Before leaving Winchester I decided to have our 
coaches take in the site of Hyde Abbey before mak- 
ing the drive to Southampton and the Isle of Wight. 
This Abbey was built by Henry I., in mo, and, when 
in its glory, the body of King Alfred was taken from 
the New Minster, as it was called — a church erected 
close by the Cathedral and built by King Alfred, but 
whose walls have long ago passed away, — and re- 
buried. Perhaps it was because the New Minster was 
to be pulled down and the Abbey was supposed to 
be something that would long survive it. As to the 
Cathedral it was not then begun, nor thought of by a 
hundred years. What a lesson to teach us how some- 
things destined to be immortal may vanish as a cloud!' 
The Cathedral is to-day the glory of Winchester; the 
Abbey is a stable. The Abbey had twenty-seven 
thousand acres of land from which it derived a rev- 
enue, and yet, stripped of every vestige of corporate 
right, it is but a heap of crumbling decay. Alfred's 
remains are said to repose beneath the plain slab 
just east of the parish church of St. Bartholomew (of 
1 1 54) near by the Abbey. Over this I then and since 



THE EARLIEST ENGLISH CAPITAL 141 

have stood reverently with uncovered head. It is 
probable, not certain, that here the best king who 
ever ruled Britain awaits the final Resurrection. ( >ne 
will on such a spot recall the lines of Mrs. Hemans, 
beginning: 

"Spirit of Alfred! patriot soul sublime! 
Thou morning star of error's darkest time!" 

and feel that, perhaps, his spirit might not be so far 
away this millennial year! From near the plain slab 
I gathered white clover blossoms, a buttercup, a tiny 
fern, and leaf of yarrow, and, as I pressed them in my 
notebook and walked away, I 
called up afresh to mind all that 
I had read of the " First < reorge 
Washington." 

George Washington indeed, 
but a greater than he! What a 
wholesome, mirth-loving, good, 
royal, manly man Alfred was 
every schoolboy ought to know. 

Washington Saved his COUntry, Grave of Alfred the Great. 

but Alfred both saved and made 

his native land; he was not only the greatest ruler 
of his time, but one of the best and wisest men of all 
time; pre-eminently the " noblest man that ever wore 
a crown." He had four-square common-sense, he had 
infinite tact and he possessed extraordinary learning. 
Xot a flaw in his personal character. Xot a deed is 
credited to his record which was not worthy of a man 
and of a prince. Alfred the Great was the peer of 
any prince since David in all excellencies, and if he 
had not greater genius than our Washington (though 
I think he had), he was in a position to work out 
vaster accomplishments, for he reigned almost thirty 




142 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

years. With this view all the great authorities of the 
world agree.* 

Consider for a moment just what this one man ac- 
complished. England was conquered and enthralled 
by the Danes; he put them to flight and regained 
his country for his countrymen. At once he restored 
order out of chaos. He selected and confirmed the 
best of laws, and they are the foundation of the Com- 
mon Law to-day. To govern it well, he divided the 
land into tithings, hundreds and shires, and gave 
to each proper magistrates. This is still the recog- 
nized mode of local government, both in England 
and America. Every citizen was registered; not to 
be, made him an outlaw. He impartially redressed 
grievances. He established courts of assize. He in- 
voked trial by jury and by twelve freeholders. He 
removed from office the corrupt and substituted the 
incorrupt. England had no fleet; he built one. He 
planted Christianity where was barbarism. He made 
theft so odious that it is said there could be hung 
golden bracelets on trees by the highways and no man 
durst remove them. He made insecure homes se- 
cure. He translated works from the Latin and Greek. 
He wrote stories and poems, and even fables. He laid 
the foundations for the present English tongue. He 
rebuilt Winchester. He made London, which was 
insignificant, a great city. What that was princely 
and noble did he leave undone, so far as lav in his 



*Mr. Frederic Harrison, one of the authorities of to-day on Alfred, 
said of him in an address delivered at Harvard College, March, 1901, that 
in each of his characters as warrior, statesman, hero and saint, " he was 
perfect— the purest, grandest, most heroic soul that ever sprang from 
our race." These were well-considered, carefully chosen words and 
there will be few to dispute his opinion. As to the final resting-place of 
Alfred's remains, researches are now being made at Winchester to see 
if the spot can be definitely determined. 



THE EARLIEST ENGLISH CAPITAL 



14.? 



power? The whole is best summed up in the well- 
known description of him by « Sir Henry Spelman: 
"The wonder and astonishment of all ages! If we 

reflect on his piety and 
religion, it would seem 
that he had always lived 
in a cloister; if on his 
warlike exploits, that he 
had never been out of 
camps; if on his learn- 
ing and writings, that 
he had spent his whole 
life in a college; if on 
his wholesome laws and 
wise administration, that 
these had been his whole 
study and employment."' 
Reflections, while first 
standing near Alfred's 
grave, were overpower- 
ingly strong, that Eng- 
lishmen could do no bet- 
ter deed than to erect at 
Winchester to the mem- 
ory of Alfred a monu- 
ment worthy of a king. 
1 lappily. they have done 
it. Tn this year of grace, 
190 t. exactly one thou- 
sand years after his 
death, the tardy recogni- 
tion of a great and free 
people is embodied in a 
colossal statue, the work 
of Thornvcroft, admira- 




Statue .'/' Alfred the Great, 
by Thorny croft, (/90/). 



144 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

bly conceived and executed. It represents the king- in 
helmet and cloak, raising the hilt of his sword, which 
is also the sign of the Cross. And yet! and yet! 
With all the ceremonies and the majestic figure on 
that pedestal, greatness seems never so great as when 
its robing is in plain simplicity. That smooth, flat, 
uninscribed stone in Hyde Abbey churchyard; that 
plain turf; the unadorned buttercup, tender fern and 
modest yarrow; the sweet, warm sunshine; birds 
carolling in the lindens near; silence: could anything 
more truly represent the sweetness of nature, purity 
of heart and plainness of life of Alfred, who, a thousand 
years ago, after years of war, fell asleep in a time of 
peace, bequeathing to the world the ploughshare and 
.the pruning hook in place of a cruel sword.* 

* " A most interesting memorial of Alfred is a jewel now preserved 
in the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford. It was worn by him, was lost 
;at Athelney, and was found there unharmed in the Seventeenth Cen- 
tury. Its inscription, 'Alfred het meh gewircan ' (Alfred had me made), 
affords authentic testimony to its origin." Illustrations and a represen- 
tation of this jewel were on exhibition in the Lenox Library, New 
York, in October last. 




' Boats in I-' nil Sail." 



XI.— ON THE ISLE OF WIGHT. 



OFF AGAIN in the coaches, the town of Win- 
chester being astir and agape at ns as we 
passed. We should have stopped before St. 
Cross Hospital, a mile to the south, a unique insti- 
tution seven hundred years old. founded by Henry 
of Blois (1136) and Cardinal Beaufort, to support 
" thirteen poor men '* and also to give a daily dinner 
to " a hundred other indigent men. ' Every one still 
obtains, free, a horn of beer and pot of white bread 
on knocking at the porter's gate. But we passed it 
rather unawares. The first noteworthy sight, later, 
was that of a score of school-children running after us 
up the half-mile hill of St. Catherines, perhaps to see 
if pennies would be thrown out. Some one asked 
them what nation's flag ours was, and they did not 
know. From here on there was no special interest 
in the road to Southampton, distance a dozen miles 
from Winchester, but it continued to be as smooth 
as a floor. We went into the city and down to the 
docks with plenty of townspeople watching. 

Southampton, as viewed from the docks or rad- 
io 



146 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

way, looks like a wholly modern, and, therefore, to 
travelers, an unattractive place, compared with other 
cities and towns of Southern England. But more 
careful study proves that it does have things of other 
than passing interest. And, first of all, is the spot 
whence the Pilgrim Fathers set sail. Not a local 
guidebook tells of it, but the location can be almost, 
if not quite, pointed out on the wharf just east of 
the starting place for the small steamer that runs reg- 
ular trips across to Cowes. That was a great day 
for Massachusetts, for New England and for all the 
United States, when, on August 5, 1620, the " May- 
flower " started from this point to bear a handful of 
religious men and women to the shores of the New 
World. The Thanksgiving turkey might be still un- 
born had that little craft not piloted those stormy seas 
and reached that stern and rockbound coast at Ply- 
mouth Rock! The Bar Gate of the Eleventh Century. 
with its Norman arch, is another object lesson for the 
antiquarian, as is the old Norman structure known as 
King John's house, one of the very oldest domestic 
houses in England. St Michael's church is old. very 
old, and its eagle lecturn of fine brass, excavated in 
late years from its hiding beneath the church, and its 
tombs, will bear study and awaken thought. So will 
Bitterne, a little place just across the Itchen east from 
Southampton, the precise place where the Romans 
had a permanent camp, and where Cerdic and Cyn- 
ric, the Danish kings, landed in 495, when they 
came to conquer South England and to lay the foun- 
dations of the kingdom of Wessex. Eloquent of fated 
heroism is the fact that at Southampton Richard 
Coeur de Lion, with his Crusaders, embarked, when, 
in 1 189, they started on that unhappy mission to 
free the Holy Land from the grasp of the Infidels. 



ON THE ISI.I-: OF WIGHT 147 

It is but three and one-half miles from Southampton 
to the place where the old Cistercian monks from 
France had happy days, Xetley Abbey, than which 
there is scarcely a more beautiful ruin in the realm. 
Except for a fort in the way, this venerable relic 
would be seen by all steamers which go up to South- 
ampton docks, but now it is out of view. 

It is true, nevertheless, that as a whole Southamp- 
ton is chiefly, for travelers, a port of entry and em- 
barkation, and 1 was glad to hasten from Southampton 
water and across the channel, three miles wide, to 
West Cowes, and there look upon a water-scene like 
One of Turner's pictures. It is " down " to get to the 
ocean channel, because Southampton is not located 
on the sea, but some ten miles from it on a broad 
estuary, formed by the rivers Itchen and Test, and 
Southampton Bay. It is a pretty ride to the channel, 
because of the shipping- within view, and also because 
of the noble military buildings on the east side. When 
the Solent (as the channel is called, dividing the main- 
land from the Isle of Wight) is reached, Cowes comes 
into view, and when once West Cowes is reached, the 
view of the harbor becomes zestful and restful. At 
the " Gloster " hotel, facing the Solent, I saw that 
evening, after sundown, a picture such as I have not 
seen even approached in the best of Turner's sunset 
pictures. The mental mirror photographed it then. 
but my pen will fail to give it life and reality now. 
It was the Bay of Naples brought up to the coast of 
England. There, in the far western horizon, were the 
chalcedony of earth and the topaz of heaven, inter- 
mingled and suffused. Between that gorgeous pan- 
orama and where I stood were the silent artifices of 
men, the great ships, those voiceless personifications 
of the gods of the deep; and where they floated it was 



i ,s BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

as pellucid and calm as the sea of eternity. A dozen, 
two dozen, three dozen yachts and boats in full sail 
skimmed tin' watery surface as noiselessly as if they 
knew not sound of hammer, or 'long-shoreman. 
Athwart the bosom of the bay were streaks and patch- 
es of the reflected deep oranges and reds of the skies of 
tire. Eastwardly, toward Spithead, where those brave 
men and many women — nine hundred souls in all — on 
the " Royal George " went down in 1782, there was 
the gray, almost melancholy, quiet of unmarked 
graves. North, in a line with that vast country of the 
Xew Forest, where William Rufus met his death, 
were only glows and afterglows, but they too became 
gold and then turned into blood, as the sun dropped 
down to and below the smoky atmosphere of the south 
of England. The effects of land and cloud and sea, 
congeries of spirits, reaching up and reaching down 
in awful colors, such as only an English atmosphere 
seems possible to portray, were indescribable. As I 
watched the heavens, every yellow point and spangle 
had turned into crimson, and by reflection every 
wavelet was transformed into the blood of Egypt! 
Land of goodnight and of farewell; sky of twilight 
and of beckoning; sea of reflected eternities! Those 
ghostly boats before me, those strange, weird, mar- 
vellous spectres beyond me, that unutterable silence 
of death around and above: was I in heaven, or on 
earth, or in neither? Suddenly a band of music broke 
forth into sound, just beneath my bed-room window. 
The town band ! I wished for the moment there had 
never been such a thing as earthly music. Here were 
the matchless heavens and the overpowering sea, a sub- 
lime canticle, a marvellous spectacle, an overwhelm- 
ing poem, unfolding glory upon glory in absolute 
and majestic quiet. But puny, vain and self-import- 



n\ THE ISI.K OF WIGHT 140 

ant man must come into the scene and disturb the 
serenity, break up the harmony, quench the spiritual 

and the adorable, and all for a collection of a few 
sixpences and shillings! 

All the leviathans of the dee]) that steam between 
Xew York and Southampton, or Southampton and 
France, come through this body of water known as 
the Solent. It is the headquarters of all English 
yachting - , and being also in the immediate proximity 
to Osborne Castle, it will be readily understood why 
the marine sights at (owes are favorite ones for an 
artist. There are terraced gardens running down to 
the sea, with plentiful vines, and between the active 
life at the seaside and the more quiet and peaceful one 
of the cottagers on the hill, I should consider (owes 
a delightful place, both for business and for resi- 
dence. 

Before leaving Cowes to coach on the island, 
a general word or two about the Isle of Wight may 
help us to appreciate it more. It does not figure much 
in the usual histories of England, perhaps because it 
is so small. It is only thirteen miles broad and twen- 
ty-two long; not big enough for one count}', so it be- 
longs to Hampshire, on the main land. It lias one 
hundred and forty-six square miles of land; smaller 
than any county of England, if we except Rutland- 
shire. But from Roman days — four hundred and 
fifty years the Romans held it in possession — till now, 
it has been set aside in a measure from all the rest 
of England by Saxons. Normans and Englishmen as 
a place of residence for the wealthy, as a seaside resort 
and as a winter retreat. It is warm in December, vet 
cool all the year round. Its coast is nearly every- 
where abrupt, and as the central part of the island 
rises at one point to the height of eight hundred and 



i 5 o BRIGHT DAYS IN MEKIUE ENGLAND 

thirty feet, it presents all the rolling features of in- 
terior England. After seeing its numerous high 
hills I cannot wonder that there were in the days of 
the Edwards more than two score watch-towers on 
their summits, where the flashing beacons at night 
signalled from one to the other, and across to the 
mainland, the approaches of naval enemies; nor that, 
with all their onsets, the French in the times of the 
Henrys could not make a permanent foothold on this 
bit of territory, which they wished to own and plun- 
der. This rolling surface makes it fine coaching 
ground. ( )ne must have tips and downs to enjoy 
coaching to the utmost. Fine old Roman villas, re- 
mains of thoroughly ancient castles, seaside towns 
of extraordinary beauty, valley towns as fair as any 
in Great Britain, are all found in this small piece of 
land. As we shall see, there are individual spots of 
scenery, natural and artificial, which are as dreams 
" of ( )rmus and of Ind." As Drayton long ago sang 
of this Island: 

•" ( )f all the southern isles she holds the highest place, 
And evermore hath been the great'st in Britain's grace." 

Somehow or other an English coachman will not 
be induced, either by promise of reward or by affec- 
tion to his patrons, to arise at an early hour in the 
morning, put horses and vehicles in readiness, and, 
by the time the sun is up but a little way, the dew 
still on the grass and the air purest and sweetest, 
push on toward the halfway point of the day's jour- 
ney. It is no attraction to him to be told he can 
make a longer nooning for both men and beast; he 
simply will not budge. In midsummer the sun is up 
at three and does not set until nine. We had hoped 
sometimes to have been off by six at the latest, and 



ON THE ISLE OF WIGHT 151 

to have sped along through the narrow hedge-lined 
lanes to the songs of morning birds, when the fresh 
atmosphere was redolent with the breath of barley 
and of new-mown hay. But do what we could, 
say what we would, it required almost superhuman 
effort to have the words ' All aboard!" pronounced 
before nine o'clock, when the sun was fully five hours 
high. Mr. Franklin always insisted that the air of the 
early morning had too much fog to be healthy; that 
in any event it required all the preliminary hours be- 
fore nine to have the horses in fine trim, the axles well 
greased, and the other paraphernalia entirely ready. 
The truth is, it is an English habit, born I know not 
when, but grown out of aristocratic ideas, to retire 
late at night and arise from the* bed in the middle of 
the forenoon. Xo English hotel would welcome a 
body of guests a second time, who insisted on a reg- 
ular breakfast earlier than eight o'clock; with any 
landlord nine or ten is the fashionable hour. If we 
ever talked of starting early, everybody objected; 
the proprietor of the coaches and all his men ; the 
proprietor of the hotel and all his waiters. So in time 
we learned to submit and felt ourselves lucky if we 
could make a mount at not more than the third hour 
from the noon. 

It is a drive fit for the gods, that eighteen miles 
to Freshwater Ray, directly across the island. The 
capital town, Newport, is athwart the path, but no 
other settlement of size or- importance. The wide 
Medina river, a full quarter-mile across for most of 
the way. is unfortunately out of sight, though parallel 
with the road, for the railway has pre-empted the 
lowlands along that curious body of half-salt and half- 
fresh water, and the driveway has been kept to the 
higher level. The public road is an exceedingly an- 



152 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



cient one. To the right we passed the prison of "the 
island, where we saw manv convicts in the fields work- 




The Keep, Carisbrooke. 



ing in gangs. Behind it were the trees of the great 
Parkhurst Forest. We scarcely paused at Newport, 
but hastened on to reach Carisbrooke Castle, which 



ON THE [SLE OF WIGHT 153 

lifts its massive walls high upon a hill a half-mile east 
of the little village of Carisbrooke. As one nears it 
there is in the background a sweet picture: the 
church of Carisbrooke with its grand square tower; 
the stone cottages clustering around it; fields of pas- 
ture; a brook of pellucid clearness. Before is that 
exalted mound, with the Castle upon it. the banner 
of English authority waving above the ramparts. I 
could hardly believe, as 1 walked up the rugged as- 
cent and saw the towers and battlements, and en- 
tered through the gateway of splendid architectural 
proportions, that this was a dismantled fortress and. 
for all war purposes, a veritable ruin. Some other 
real and unruined castles have fine positions and 
great natural strength — Edinburgh, Stirling, Durham, 
for instance — but none has the intrinsic beauty, nor 
extrinsic dignity, when viewed from any point, of 
Carisbrooke. It shows off at once its glorious an- 
tiquity. It presents at a glance a forefront of im- 
perishable associations. Two thousand years have 
come and gone since the first earthworks were raised 
1 m this spot by the oldest known inhabitants of South 
Britain — the Celts — and the lords and overlords, the 
nobles, the 'princes and princesses, the kings and 
queens, who have passed within its environments of 
earth and stone, could neither be named nor num- 
bered. 

Whitgar, a rude Saxon chieftain, is said to hav< 
given his name to the spot — Whit-garis-burgh, cor- 
rupted now to Carisbrooke — and it is likely enough. 
for there is a very ancient chronicle which reads: 
"This year. (530) Cerdic and Cynric conquered the 
Island of Wight, and slew many men at Wiht-garas- 
byrg." Fire and sword, famine and time, have con- 
spired to rend it, to demolish it, to make it a memory 



154 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

of the ages, but without avail. Deserted, it is not 
desolate; devastated, it has still on its brow the re- 
pose of eternal defiance. When the sun shines in its 
broad arena, and the rooks are building happy nests 
in the plentitudinous ivy on gate and walls, it is as 
calmly magnificent, and, to appearances, as impreg- 
nable as when the great Fitz-Osborne, marshall of 
William the Conqueror, erected the ancient keep, or 
Queen Elizabeth the loopholed towers, or when the 
soldiers of Cromwell beat their roll-calls during the 
long imprisonment of King Charles I. Take it all in 
all. there is hardly a finer ruined fortress in all Great 
ilritain than this of Carisbrooke. Grand without be- 
ing melancholy, except by its connection with the 
fate of the young Elizabeth; majestic in situation; 
wrapt in the solitude of its own inherent dignity, its 
stern battlements have been the admiration of fifteen 
generations of people. If one scans back over all 
the centuries since some sort of fortress crowned the 
hill, sixty generations of men are not too large a num- 
ber to embrace the sum of those who have seen na- 
tions rise and fall while this covert for heroic knights 
remained erect and puissant. Always the pride of the 
inhabitants of this lovely island, its pomp has van- 
ished, but its glories yet throw long shadows over 
all the land. 

I was glad to begin my investigation of this enor- 
mous fortress by making a circuit of the walls. En- 
tering by the bridge which crosses the moat and by 
the Queen Elizabeth gate, marked " E. R., 1598," 
and then through the still more venerable wooden 
double-doorway, the age of which cannot even be 
conjectured, a narrow stairway took me to the top 
of the ramparts, twenty feet high and eight feet 
thick. Then appears an entertaining view. So wide 



ON THE ISLE OF WIGHT 155 

reaching, so tranquil. The tall, white church tower 
at Newport and the tiled roof houses; the two tow- 
ers of ( )sborne in the far north, and also the wa- 
ters of the Solent; the village of Carisbrooke close 
by; everywhere undulating" downs and valleys of great 
fertility. There were dense forests to the northeast, 
and noble hills toward the south. Surely, except for 
his being a prisoner of state, with the prospect that 
his head must be laid beneath the axe, Charles had 
•opportunity, when he was permitted to walk upon 
these walls, to look out " where every prospect 
pleased, and only man was vile." 

What about King Charles in this Castle? He en- 
tered it the thirteenth of November, 1647, a'ter flee- 
ing from his palace at Hampton Court, near London. 
He came to the coast to escape to France. No ves- 
sel appearing, he threw himself upon the mercy of 
the Governor of the Island, Colonel Hammond, an 
honorable and kind-hearted man, who felt his first 
•duty was to the Parliament in power and his second 
to the King. He was lodged in the Governor's 
house — Montacute Tower — and Parliament voted five 
thousand pounds per annum for his household ex- 
penses. Ample, one would suppose, to maintain his 
dignity within fortress walls. He was not even a 
prisoner, except that he could not leave the island. 
He went hunting in Parkhurst Forest. He had time 
to read, to write a book as to his " Solitude and Suf- 
ferings," and even to hold the semblance of a court. 
Gentry came to him and kissed his hand, and those 
affected with the " king's evil " were touched and 
(said to be) healed. In a moment of cowardice, a 
repetition of former displays of unheroism. he plan- 
ned an escape. It failed. He planned another, this 
time preparing to go through the window of his bed- 



156 



P.UICHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



chamber, on the first (we should call it the second) 
floor of the Governor's house, to let himself down 
with a silk cord, cross the castle-yard in the darkness., 
scale the outside walls by means of a rope, mount 
a horse, reach the seaside, and take a boat for France. 




King Charles tie First. 

March 20th, 1648, was the date set. Charles did get 
his head through the window bars. Then he discov- 
ered his body was bigger than his head and would 
not go through! To think that a king should know 
less of plain physics — or solids, rather — than did 



().\ THE ISLE OF WIGHT 157 

an ordinary boy! It is hard to believe the record, 
but the facts are well attested, for Cromwell learned 
of the circumstances and a letter from him concerning 
it, dated a fortnight later, lias been published. 
Charles's residence now had to be changed, and what 
is at present called "The Prison of Charles" was 
fitted up for the state prisoner, and beneath his room 
a sentinel paced night and day. He planned escape 
again, this time proposing to remove a window bar, 
and get away almost exactly as before. ( )n May 28th 
he succeeded in severing the bar. The soldiers who 
were in the plot were below ready to aid him, and the 
king actually got through the window. But he saw- 
more sentinels than the customary ones. The Gov- 
ernor had learned of the scheme and had frustrated 
it. Thenceforth there was no hope. The island was 
now excited, soldiers were everywhere, rigorous 
measures for his security were adopted. In Novem- 
ber he was taken to Hurst Castle on the Hampshire 
coast, then to Windsor, then to his place of execution 
in front of Whitehall. This latter is history which 
all the world knows well. 

lint what of Princess Elizabeth? Charles never 
could see his children when at Carisbrooke. His fare- 
well to them — a memorable farewell — took place at 
the Palace of St. James, in London. Eighteen 
months later Cromwell had the Princess Elizabeth 
and her younger brother, the Duke of Gloucester, 
confined in Carisbrooke. Elizabeth was less than fif- 
teen. She was so sweet, so gentle, so religious, that 
her last days, like her previous life, won to her mem- 
ory the affection of all who love the purity of girlhood 
and the unaffected piety of devoted youth. Of deli- 
cate constitution, the chilly and fireless room to which 
she was consigned so quickly undermined her health 



158 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

that, ten days after her arrival, she had taken a cold 
from which no physician's skill could relieve her. 
One month a prisoner; then the good hand of God 
took her to Himself. The story of her death is so 
touchingly pathetic that I want to give it in the words 
of an English writer, as I found it in a pamphlet 
when at this fateful Castle: "The sun was nearinsr 
the west, and its mellow tints and declining rays were 
just brightening up the little room and penetrating 
the chamber, whose aspect invited their coming. 
From its window she gazed upon the calm of an au- 
tumnal afternoon. It was rest — harmonious rest. It 
was the even-song of Nature, chanted in purple, crim- 
son and gorgeous tints. Ever and anon voices came 
from the little church, and sounds of praise fell upon 
her delighted ears as she composed herself to read 
from her treasured Bible ; her sole companion now, 
save Himself, who is the 'Living Word,' whose pres- 
ence ever makes the written Word so real. She^ had 
found the nth chapter of Matthew, and her eyes 
were resting and her heart was feeding upon the 
sweet words, ' Come unto me, all ye that labour and 
are heavy laden, and I will give you rest,' and her 
heart's pulsation ceased, her dear face fell upon the 
page, and her sweet life was breathed away amid the 
fragrance of these words: ' I will give you rest.' How 
truly was this the vestibule of heaven! And so un- 
seen, unnoticed, the flower faded. Elizabeth fell asleep 
almost within three weeks of her arrival." Another 
account says: " No one was with her at the moment 
when her gentle spirit took its flight: she was found 
reclining on her couch, her cheek resting on a Bible, 
open at the passage, ' Come unto me, all ye that la- 
bour,' etc. This Bible had been given her by her 
father with these words: ' It has been my great com- 



ON THE ISLE OF WIGHT 159 

fort and constant companion through all my sorrows, 
and I hope it will be thine also." In the dramatic 
sketch of " Elizabeth Stuart " by W'indus, she is made 
to say, at the last: 

" 1 cannot sleep. I feel a strange unrest. 
I'll try to rise and consolation seek 
From my dear Book. Its pages open here. — 
' Come unto me . . . and I will give you rest.' 

And now the words seem blurred I cannot read. 

Some gentle influence has bound me 'round. 

My lanquid limbs are sinking to repose. 

Who calls? . . . The light grows dim. ... I cannot see. 

Father, dear father, wait. ... I come to thee!" 

Her body was taken by devoted hands and laid to rest 
in Newport churchyard, September 20, 1650, and in 
1856. two hundred and six years later, it was marked 
with a monument of white marble, sculptured by 
Marochetti, and paid for by the good Queen Victoria. 
The young Duke was kept two years at this castle, 
and then was permitted to join his mother, ex-Queen 
Henrietta, in France. Of course I entered the lit- 
tle room of four stone walls with no speck of furni- 
ture within it. where she died, and took a single leaf 
of ivy from the window-sill. 

The Well House, of the Sixteenth Century, (suc- 
ceeding two previous structures), with a well one 
hundred and forty-five feet deep, is as odd as it is 
historic. It is seven hundred and fifty years old, and 
since T588 the windlass has been turned by the iden- 
tical fifteen-feet draw-wheel now used, the motive 
power being a donkey, whose hereditary name is " Ja- 
cob." One " Jacob " died in 1877, aged forty-nine 
years. The present " Jacob " had been in service four 
years, succeeding one who fell off the walls and ended 
a long and useful career. When I saw him at the 
wheel he hesitated when the " Now, Jacob," reached 



i6o BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

his ear from the keeper, but soon faced about, entered 
the wheel, and expended five minutes of severe toil 
in lifting- a huge barrel full of water. Then he quickly 
tripped out to chew on a wisp of hay. He had an 
older companion, " Ned," to alternate with him at the 
wheel, but I did not see " Ned " at this first visit.* 
After the Castle, and flooded with its associations, 
we hastened on foot down the hill to the village, re- 
mounted our coaches and were off through Brook 
and Brightstone to Freshwater. At Brook, a lady 
teacher, with school-children by her side, rang the 
school bell in honor of the American flags we carried, 
and we doffed hats to them. " Do you know," says 
Carnegie, " why the Americans worship the starry 
banner with a more intense passion than even the 
Briton does his flag? I will tell you. It is because it 
is not the flag of a government which discriminates 
between her children, decreeing privilege to one and 
denying it to another, but the flag of the people which 
gives the same rights to all. The British flag was 
born too soon to be close to the masses. It came 
before their time, when they had little or no power." 
Somewhere near this point of the day's tour we 
passed another lot of school-children, near a public 
school, as it was the noon hour. One of the party 
thus narrated in a letter to his newspaper at home 
what occurred: "They were bright-looking young- 
sters, and surrounded our coaches as they were stand- 
ing in the street. The question was asked of them 
what flag was waving above the coach? They replied 
in chorus, ' American flag.' ' Who was it that fought 
with England?' was asked. 'The United States.' 
* Who got whipped?' was the next cruel question. 

* For another notice of this Castle, see Chapter XXIII. 



ON THE ISLE OF WIGHT 161 

There was a moment of hesitation. ' The right an- 
swer means a penny,' said the interrogates Then a 
bright-eyed youngster said, timidly, ' England.' It 
was an effort ; the love of their country is strong even 
with the children." 

The ground between Carisbrooke and Freshwa- 
ter is rolling, fruitful, and with no special attractions 
except those inseparable from English scenery. There 
were thatched-roof villages, people whose dress was 
rather peculiar, and here and there snatches of the 
salt air from the ocean toward which we were has- 
tening. The names of the old inns were, if anything, 
more odd than usual; the titles, or many of them, 
running back to the days of the Plantagenets. I have 
often wondered why it was that village inns, and even 
the hotels in the large cities of England, have such 
queer names. The commonest known, perhaps, are 
the " Red," " White " or " Black Horse," the 
" White " or " Black Swan," the " Blue Jay," the 
" Bull," the " Cow," the " Lion," etc., named after 
animals and birds. In this one day's coaching on the 
Isle of Wight I noted such oddities as "The Cowherd," 
" Brown Jug." " Antelope," " Dog and Cart," " Bleed- 
ing Horse," " Malt and Shovel." One writer in a 
Boston newspaper undertook some time ago to ex- 
plain some of these by declaring that they were cor- 
ruptions, but in the majority of cases his explana- 
tion probably fails. He instanced, for example, " The 
Buck in the Park " as derived from " a heraldic sign, 
a hart, cumbent, on a mount, in a park paled;" " The 
Bull and Mouth," from "Boulogne Mouth;" "The 
Devil and Bag of Nails," from " The Satyr and At- 
tendant Bacchanals;" "The Cat and the Wheel," 
from " Catherine's wheel." It may be so, but I rather 
suspect there is in many cases a history connected 

11 



162 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

with an inn, or of the man who first opened it, which 
induced him, or which induced one of his successors, 
to put up the sign which now gives characterization 
to the spot. The English are quite peculiar about their 
signs, and a host of queer placards on fences and 
advertising cards in the newspapers prove it. Perhaps 
none more so than the one to be found until lately- 
over one of the most renowned cemeteries in Lon- 
don itself (Bunhill Fields) : " This graveyard is in- 
tended by the Corporation of London as a recreation 
ground for the public." 

Freshwater Bay has a fine hotel and beautiful 
grounds, but the locality seemed to be rather bleak, 
though sheltered by the indentation of the coast from 
the rougher winds. Vegetation is not rank, and the 
chalky cliffs are high and jagged curiously. Off in 
the water are tall arched rocks, the waves having 
beaten against them through the ages till there are 
immense perforations, and around them we saw the 
spray, like clouds of mist, and in the niches and in 
the air the ever-present sea-birds. One looks out 
from the summit southerly and easterly toward sunny 
France, but sees no land; all is ocean, with the same 
undulations that have heaved their disquietude since 
the early morning of Earth's first creation. Eternal 
dithyrambs of music. Terrestrial harmonies never 
ceasing by these shores. But out in the deeps, none 
the less audible to ears attuned to the finer chords of 
the silences, are the watery infinitudes. 

" Break, break, break 
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! 
And I would that my tongue could utter 
The thoughts that arise in me. 

" And the stately ships go on 
To their haven under the hill: 



o.\ THE ISLE OF WIGHT 163 

But O for the touch of a vanished hand, 
And the sound of a voice that is still! 

" Break, break, break, 
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! 
But the tender glance of a day that is dead 
Will never come back to me." 

I do not wonder that Tennyson once loved the out- 
look from these high, white levels, with the sea in 
the foreground and the verdure-crowned hills and 
valleys behind; with the merchant ships of the na- 
tions passing to and fro every hour, and with the in- 
numerable wild Mowers in the velvet turf always be- 
neath the feet. It is a banner spot for orchids and 
seaside plants, and especially for the tiny purple, or 
white, or yellow " darlings," that dot the grasses and 
make of the green robe of the uplands the delicately 
tinted and scented garment of many colors, which 
gives happiness to the poet, and to the lover of Na- 
ture sensations of keenest joy. Back of the residence 
he delighted to call his own, his " Farringford," and 
where he resided continuously from about the year 
1851 to 1869, is an immense forest and behind that 
a glen. Here would have been a grand spot in which 
to die: the great fir trees surrounding and the 
moaning of the seas in front. Had he this, or a sim- 
ilar ideal, before him when he wrote in his sweet 
^none: 

" The swimming vapor slopes athwart the glen, 
Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine, 
And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand 
The lawn and meadow-ledges midway down 
Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars 
The long brook falling thro' the clov'n ravine 
In cataract after cataract to the sea. 

"The purple flowers droop; the golden bee 
Is lily-cradled: I alone awake. 
My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love." 



164 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



But he had chosen Haslemere, in Surrey, instead, for 
his life's last decades, and it was there, with moon- 
beams lighting up his room and with Shakespeare be- 
ing read to him, that his pure, great soul went out on 




Lord Tennyson. 



that October night in 1892 to the gloriously tranquil 
port whence no traveler returns. 

Farringford was hidden behind the deep wood as 



OX THE ISLE OF WIGHT 165 

we drove from Freshwater to Totland Bay. From the 
water I have often seen the beacon-spot where the 
granite memorial of the poet has been erected by the 
devoted offerings of his friends. His house, too, with 
cleared grounds in front, is wholly open to the sun- 
shine and to the breezes from the sea. In this house 
he had received Longfellow, Sumner, Bayard Taylor, 
Holmes, Phillips Brooks, all Americans, and Prince 
Albert, the Duke of Argyle and many more of his 
own countrymen. 

The road soon discloses new visions of sea beauty, 
as it approaches Totland Bay, and the eye sweeps 
almost from the Needles to Round Tower Point. We 
might have driven straightway north to Yarmouth, 
but we went directly west to Middletown and beyond; 
then changed our course toward Yarmouth and began 
the long drive eastward to Shallfleet and Parkhurst 
Forest, and so northerly and easterly to West Cowes, 
making a circuit of forty miles, (around half the Is- 
land), in a single day. As I have looked back upon 
it since, I believe this return drive was as charming 
in all its features as that on any single roadway we 
had previously gone over in our many coaching days. 
There was only one really steep hill in it, but every- 
where ups and downs, gentle as those in sunny lives, 
with fringes of wood and meadows, outlooks on 
hedge-rows and rich acreages, peeps over walls at pret- 
ty farm mansions, occasional Wesleyan chapels, and 
every now and then a long and narrow lane of green- 
ery, so sheltered that one would suppose it must lead 
directly on to some " Audsley Court " where, as the 
Tennyson lines picture it: 

" By many a sweep 
Of meadow smooth from aftermath, we reach'd 
The griffin-guarded gates, and passed thro' all 



166 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

The pillared dust of sounding sycamores, 
And cross'd the garden to the gardener's lodge, 
With all its casements bedded, and its walls 
And chimneys muffled in the leafy vine." 

Every moment, almost, it seemed as if we must turn 
in to such a place; but I fear it was a phantom, for 
the reality came not. 

Churches that are pictures of stone in settings of 
emerald — temples half art and half nature — the like of 
which for external charm, notwithstanding their plain- 
ness of architecture, I have never seen in America, 
are so plentiful throughout the land in which we have 
been coaching, that I would not know where to name 
one as excelling all the others, but one of the notable 
ones to hold in memory was that at Shallfleet. The 
ivy was exquisite, in arrangement and depth of color,, 
and the whole effect of church and churchyard as we 
passed by was too pleasing to be expressed in words. 

The horses and ourselves were tired as we drove 
into Cowes about half-past eight in the evening, but 
the special supplementary dinner served for us at the 
" Gloster " took away weariness and gave us zest 
for another half-hour of evening music by the band, 
and then for comfortable beds. I have not heretofore 
specified any menu served to us at an English hotel, 
so perhaps this one will be interesting. It was not ex- 
tensive, for the regular table d'hote had been finished 
earlier in the evening, but it was choice and appetiz- 
ing: 

MENU AT 8 O'CLOCK. 

" Soup — Julienne. 

" Fish — Fillets of Brill, Tartar Sauce. 

" Entree — Sweetbreads with Mushrooms. 

" Roast-Ribs of Beef, Horseradish Sauce; Ducks, Apple Sauce; 

Peas and Potatoes. 
" Sweets— Black Currant Tart; Milk Pudding. 
" Cheese." 



ON THE ISLE OF WIGHT 



167 




i68 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERBIE ENGLAND 



The proprietor of the " Gloster " is one of the clev- 
erest men in the hotel line I ever met abroad. He 
once visited America with a sick brother, and he re- 
membered having — so he told me in a real hearty 
and fraternal conversation we had in the evening — 
at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, New York, sweet corn, 
" and I thought," said he, "it was one of the best things 
I ever ate." I suggested that canned corn would be bet- 
ter than none, but this dish he had never heard of and 
it is a total stranger to England. This reminds me that 
we never met a landlord who had seen a sweet po- 
tato unless he had been to America, and, as few of 
them have visited this country, the rule was almost 
without exception. An aged landlady in the Lake 
region begged me at one time to send her one by 
mail, after questioning me as to whether it was a white 
potato with a sweet flavor. Our own wide range of 
vegetables would astound the plain English natives, 
and even the gentry, because the most of them are as 
unknown as is the corn or the sweet potato. But I 
hasten now to say farewell for the present to Cowes, 
and to a very picturesque and dainty island. 







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XII.— SALISBURY, OLD SARUM AND STONE- 
HENGE 

WHEN WE left Cowes by the ferry steamboat, 
the proprietor of the " Gloster," who had 
placed on his flagstaff during our period of 
stay the American flag, saluted us by dipping the col- 
ors. He held the Stars and Stripes in his hand and 
waved them up and down most vigorously as a fare- 
well. On reaching Southampton we again mounted 
coaches and were speedily off for Salisbury, the day's 
drive to be twenty-four miles, mostly in Wiltshire. 

The first eight miles to Romsey contained nothing 
deserving of mention. The road is level, with some 
hills off to the right, but a flat country to the left. I 
regretted that time did not permit for an excursion 
to the direct west and southwest into the New Forest 
— called New, like many other things in England, be- 
cause it is so very old! — where William Rufus came 
to his untimely end August 2, uoo; whether by his 
own hand or bv the arrow of a misadventurous fel- 



170 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

low-sportsman remains to this day a mystery. At 
Romsey we lunched at the " White Horse " — and a 
good house we judged it to be. Then, as we had not 
the time to drive over to the estate of the late Lord 
Palmerston, known as the " Broadlands," whose name 
is one of the chief modern associations of Romsey, 
(his statue is a prominent figure in the market-place), 
we spent an hour and a half in visiting the attractive 
Abbey church of Sts. Mary and ^Ethelrlseda. This, 
when an Abbey, embraced a convent of not less than 
one hundred nuns. One day in the year 974, so the 
legend tells us, "Abbess Elwina was praying before the 
High Altar, while the priest was celebrating, when she 
saw over the priest's shoulder a vision of S. ^Ethelflge- 
da," (the daughter of Alfred the Great, who had 
founded the Abbey and led here a life of devotion, ac- 
cording to the rules of Saint Benedict), " rising out of 
the altar, and received from her a warning that the 
Danes were coming again to destroy the Abbey. She 
was ' not disobedient to the heavenly vision,' but, 
gathering together all her valuables, she betook her- 
self with the nuns to Winchester. When they re- 
turned the Abbey was in ruins." 

Tt was a great surprise to find such ancient and 
such characteristic architecture in Romsey as this 
Abbey church. A thousand years ago, when the bar- 
barous Danes overran nearly the whole realm of Eng- 
land, and when Ely and Peterborough and other 
such beacon-centres of piety had gone up in fire and 
smoke, the good King Alfred overcame the invaders 
and pushed back heathenism. That was in 878. Al- 
fred died and his son Edward reigned. Then, in 907, 
the first foundation stones of what later became this 
splendid gray Abbey were laid. It was before the 
<lavs of the cathedrals. How could builders then have 



SALISBURY, OLD SARUM, STONEHENGE 171 




i-2 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

erected such a magnificent pile? Of peculiar inter- 
est to our eyes now are the two crucifixes of stone 
then carved by hands which have so many centuries 
been dust. The chief one, called the Great Crucifix, 
now let into the outside west wall of the south tran- 
sept, where the sunlight of day can kiss it, repre- 
sents not a dead Christ, but a living one; on the 
Cross, yet reigning. The head is erect, the eyes open, 
the face full of sweetness. Battered and worn by time, 
it still shows that the newer idea of the sculptors had 
not then come into existence in the graven figures of 
the Crucified one. The figure is also unique in that 
above Christ is the clown-reaching hand of God, ex- 
tending from a cloud as if to say: " This is my beloved 
Son, in whom 1 am well pleased. " 

St. Margaret, of Scotland, had a sister Christina, 
and she was Abbess of Romsey eight hundred and five 
years ago. To this Abbey came William Rufus to sue 
for the hand ot her niece, Princess Matilda. The Ab- 
bess looked upon the match with aversion. Says the 
Chronicle: " Hastily commanding the Princess to put 
on the nun's habit, and go into the church to pray- 
ers, she said to the King, ' Come into the cloister and 
look at my roses.' She kept him there until it was too 
late to see the Princess, and he went away disap- 
pointed. He may have been even then on his last fatal 
journey to the New Forest; in any case his death hap- 
pened very soon after, and Henry I., seizing the crown 
at Winchester, hurried down to Romsey, and was ac- 
cepted as the husband of the Princess, who is known 
to history as ' Good Queen Maud.' ' This history, 
and much more, made the columns and stones of 
Romsey Abbey a place of great enjoyment; and the 
more so, perhaps, when I remembered that far away in 
the Isle of Wight, from which I had just come, these 



SALISBURY, OLD SARUM, STONEHENGE 173 

stones were dug- out of the quarries and carried over 
to Romsey. So surely did these old first kings of 
England feel that they were building for all time! And 
then how well they builded. The massive walls, the 
solid piers, the exact sense of proportion everywhere, 
the tremendous height of the roof, these and the 
•whole beautiful Norman architecture move to ad- 
miration. Of course, I also saw the auburn locks of 
hair of an early age, dug up from the floor below, and 
which the verger always shows; but this was curious 
only and of transient interest. 

Until a high plateau of poor chalklands, near Sal- 
isbury, is reached, the road from Romsey (fifteen 
miles) is exceptionally beautiful, being heavily wooded 
in spots and full of smiling streams and estates. On 
the hill, some two miles out, there was a view back- 
ward toward Romsey, embracing the Valley of the 
Test. It was just before reaching Emley Park, an es- 
tate to the left, which was the southern home of 
Florence Nightingale, and at the gateway of the pret- 
ty lodge of which we stopped to gather souvenir leaves 
and flowers and to inquire concerning her. A little 
girl said we could enter, and wished to open the gate, 
but time forbade. 

Lady Ashburton's estate — her husband was once 
Minister to the United States — was passed to the left; 
an attractive spot, with plenty of larch forests here and 
there, and well-lined avenues of trees shading the 
■way. 

This was another perfect day for driving, and the 
green sward and harvest fields everywhere were trem- 
iilous with alternating sunshine and shadows. We 
could sing with Adelaide Proctor: 

" God's world is bathed in beauty, 
God's world is steeped in light; 



1-4 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

It is the self-same glory 

That makes the day so bright, 
Which thrills the air with music, 

Or hangs the stars in night." 

We saw, as a rarity, a field of buckwheat, and, at a 
centuries'-old inn by the wayside, drank good milk. 
A park with tame deer pleased us, when suddenly we 
reached the plateau referred to, which, in fact, was 
at the edge of Salisbury Plain. 

Now Salisbury's slender spire broke in upon us to 
cheer us amid what seemed almost desolation. It was 
beautiful, and yet at first disappointing. That term 
disappointing could never be applied to it after the 
whole Cathedral had been taken into the vision. But 
this was not until the twilight hour, for there was no 
view of the building when we entered the quiet, sleepy 
town, and swept round the corner by St. John's street 
to the " White Hart " hotel. The town was, indeed, 
asleep, for it was Wednesday afternoon, and it was 
a holiday. Stores were all shut and the people nap- 
ping or away, at least invisible. The " White Hart " 
had a good reputation and we liked it, even though, 
like Winchester's " George," there was not yet suf- 
ficient ambition in the hospitable owners to put gas or 
electric light in the bed-rooms. When will candles 
be relegated to the tombs of the old Plantagenets? Af- 
ter dinner, in the coolness of a long twilight, I walked 
to the Cathedral close and saw, from the northwest 
entrance, the whole magnificent building, a glorious 
spectacle. Unlike most other cathedrals, it immediate- 
ly appeared to be all grace and beauty. The noble, 
open site has much to do with this, yet what other ca- 
thedral would look so well just there? "All its lines," 
we have been told by Prof. Hoppin, " are elegant and 
pure." " It is divinely tall and most divinely fair," 



SALISBURY, OLD SARUM, STONEHENGE 175 




i 7 6 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

has been Mrs. Van Rensselaer's description; " no- 
where else does a work of Christian architecture so ex- 
press purity and repose and the beauty of holiness." 
" Salisbury," she continues, " is the very type and pic- 
ture of the Church of the Prince of Peace." One can 
hardly realize that the octagonal spire in the centre 
runs up to four hundred feet above the ground, but 
it is easy to be seen that this spire makes and crowns 
the glory of Salisbury. 

So in the peace of this calmest of evenings, I 
walked about the close-shaven close; surveyed the 
composition lines, (unlike other cathedrals it can 
hardly be seen in parts); noted the royal oaks and, still 
more royal, half-dozen cedars of Lebanon; looked at 
its plain front and also, opposite, at King John's abode, 
a unique mansion of the Fourteenth Century; saw 
the plain house in full view of the Cathedral, which 
Oliver Wendell Holmes occupied when in Salisbury, 
and went back to the hotel for rest and thought. Sal- 
isbury minster was in my dreams that night, with its 
saintly purity and its one long finger pointing star- 
ward, and I hoped that its inspiration might ever af- 
ter quicken new aspirations for the Heaven toward 
which it soars! 

Next morning I again walked to the Cathedral. 
On the way I noticed everywhere order and neatness, 
both in the shops and out. How could it be other- 
wise? Does such a noble edifice, with such a heavenly 
spire, influence those who daily see its exquisite pro- 
portions and shapely grace, and make their souls clean 
and pure, their habits modest and their whole lives 
filled with perennial joy? Be this as it may, Salisbury 
is a quiet, subdued, and, I judge, a religious place; a 
garden into which, if any evil spirits have crept, 
brave efforts are made by men, women and little 



SALISBURY, <>LI> SARUM, STONEHENGE 



177 




S 



i 7 8 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

children to cast them out. For even the children 
seemed clean, contented and happy, and the influence 
of such is as of angels of light. On the way to the 
close I inquired concerning the house, if still standing, 
wherein the genial Addison wrote his delightful essays 
for the " Spectator." No one could tell. Even the 
local antiquarian failed to furnish a clue. I also knew 
that Massinger, the poet, and Fielding, the novelist, 
had resided in Salisbury, but of neither of them could 
I obtain a trace. Somewhere here I should have 
gained facts to throw light on the building connected 
with the first publication of Goldsmith's " Yiear of 
Wakefield," but, alas! Salisbury was given over to 
the one thing — the Cathedral of St. Alary, the legiti- 
mate and actual successor to the remarkable struc- 
ture of the same name at Old Sarum, and as graceful 
a poem in stone without and within as this world 
contains; and I could learn of nothing else. 

Minutely, I do not intend to describe any Eng- 
lish cathedral; that has been done by too many pens 
which are fitted to such a task. And so I refer in 
briefest terms only to that of Salisbury, perhaps the 
gem of all. I saw, of course, the Eleventh and 
Twelfth Century tombs of the first two Bishops of 
Sarum; the tomb of the first Earl of Salisbury, who 
was a son of Henry IF and Fair Rosamond, and one 
of the Cathedral founders; a finely carved, modern 
pulpit, by Sir G. G. Scott; and the two fine chantries 
of 1430 and 1520. Other things seemed less note- 
worthy, except the Chapter House, eight hundred 
years old, and full of historical scenes from the Crea- 
tion to Abraham, and of such monks and gargoyles as 
put our company in the gayest of humor. The inte- 
rior of the Cathedral, as a whole and in part, is remark- 
ablv ornate and chaste. Evervthing looks fresh. 



SALISBURY, OLD SARTJM, STONEHENGE 179 

though nearly six hundred and fifty years old; it has 
been so well taken care of. That portion of Salisbury 
close within the Bishop's yard was altogether the 
most lovely and satisfying of any cathedral close I 
have ever seen, and even that portion which is on the 
more public side of it, the usual approach, is charming 
from its very magnitude, though it does not rival Win- 
chester's in the luxuriant growth of trees. Probably 
the finest external point of view is from a spot across 
the Avon, from the meadows, but no prospect from 
any part of the close itself is without its calm and no- 
ble impressiveness. 

Very near Salisbury is Bemerton — to the west. I 
should have liked to have gone there, if only for a 
momentary glance. It is the place made famous by 
George Herbert, one of the sweetest singers who ever 
lived; and, near by. Sir Philip Sidney wrote his "Ar- 
cadia." Hut there was not time. I should never pass 
that way again and not arrange to peep into that par- 
sonage alongside the " little lane," wherein the modest, 
quaint singer could write such gems as those which 
are so clear to the world. For instance, the lines be- 
ginning: 

" Sweet day! so cool, so calm, so bright." 

or: 

" Let thy alms go before, and keep Heav'n's gate 
Open for thee; or both may come too late." 

Herbert, I believe, has no grand monument to com- 
memorate his virtues, but, like King Alfred, he needs 
none. One cannot but admire the love the Bemerton 
community still bear him, two centuries after his death. 
A sweet flower is that of remembrance; none other so 
sweet blooms above a good man's sacred dust. To 



i&> BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

be enshrined in the hearts of the people of England 
and the world is to have a tomb more enduring- than 
granite and richer than gold. 

It is a brief two miles, I should say, from Salisbury 
to Old Sarum, due north, though the guidebooks per- 
sist in calling it one. If you were not looking for the 
locality of this utterly deserted city, you might easily 
pass the place by and notice only a large, hilly mound; 
that is, if you take the road around the rising ground 
to the east, which is the usual course to reach Ames- 
bury and Stonehenge. If you go westward around 
the same spot, the site becomes so prominent that it 
can hardly escape you. Nevertheless, as a city site, 
as a sacred temple, as a citadel of strength and power, 
as an inhabited place, it is but a huge mound, showing 
some few stones where a castle stood, and otherwise, 
as at the time of this visit, a wheatfield, and patches 
of grass full of red poppies and daisies, with 

" Quaint enamel'd eyes; 
That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers, 
And purple all the ground with rural flowers;" 

and thistles, tangles of foliage, and a few rabbits and 
birds of song. But the bright sun shines over the 
mound as fair as it did six hundred and forty years 
before, when the city was disrobed, and when the con- 
spicuous Cathedral and all that remained gravitated to 
a new spot — Salisbury — because of internal dissen- 
sions. Pitt had indeed represented Old Sarum in 
Parliament long after, but owners of the vacant land 
had to leave their homes and meet here to elect him. 
Then, as now, it was desolation, like " the plains of 
Moab over against the Dead Sea." 

Once by the mound it must be ascended if one 
should comprehend where he is. Then the whole con- 



SALISBURY. OLD SAIU'M. STONEHENGB 181 

tour of the spot is striking, conforming to the outlines 
of ancient wall, moat, cathedral site and all that con- 
stituted what must have been a noble stronghold, cast 
high up out of the plain, in part by Nature and in part 
by Art. An extraordinary relic, which sends the mind 
whirling back to days far antedating the more modern 
English cathedrals, and, indeed, all English history. 
Before even Vespasian was general under Claudius 
Caesar, Sorbiodunum (as Old Sarum was then called) 
existed, and. if its earlier population could speak, I 
doubt not the mystery of Stonehenge, seven miles 
northwest of it, would be more clear. Vespasian cap- 
tured it, and he must have considered it an important 
centre, for, later, five Roman roads radiated from it. 
It was one of the ten British cities in which Roman 
law prevailed and justice to its citizens was not a 
myth. Its history afterwards becomes obscure, until 
the Saxon era, when Cymric, founder of the West 
Saxon kingdom, mastered its fortress. Two centuries 
later the Christian church of St. James was endowed-, 
and in a century more, (871), when the good Alfred 
the Great ascended the throne, he is said to have added 
the outer entrenchment. For the next two hundred 
years it was strong and weak by turns. It grew as a 
city and was devastated, and grew again, and this 
brings us to the time when the Cathedral was conse- 
crated (April 5, 1092), and when the Episcopal See 
was removed to Sarum from Sherborne. This was 
two centuries before any of the great English cathe- 
drals were completed. Old Sarum church was, there- 
fore, in high repute as a forerunner of great things in 
stone in the ecclesiastical world. It was two hundred 
and seventy feet long, with two towers, with a Galilee 
porch, a chapter house, a sacristy, and the usual fea- 
tures of a permanent church home. It had a close. 



182 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

two cemeteries, an embankment and ditch, and all 
the paraphernalia intended for long life and a large 
worshipping audience. An exact plan of Old Sarum 
city, as lately drawn by Mr. Frank Highman, of Salis- 
bury, in 1899, from ground surveys and from ancient 
descriptions, which is also supposed to represent 
with some degree of exactness the city and castle in 
A. D. 553, is interesting and should be purchased at 
Salisbury before one visits the lonely hill. 

Perhaps the most memorable date in the history 
of Old Sarum was ten years before the completion of 
the church, when William the Conqueror came to meet 
the representatives of all the counties of his kingdom, 
for homage and the submission of their lands to the 
yoke of military tenure. " They all bowed themselves 
before him," says the Saxon Chronicle, " and became 
his men and sware him oaths of allegiance that they 
would against all other men be faithful to him." One 
can still see in mental vision the striking spectacle: 
descendants of past Druids; living Saxons and Danes; 
fathers, and children who were to be half Normans, 
half Angles; and their children; then knights, nobles, 
courtiers, priests, all the citizens of the city. A motley 
company, a sad company, they gathered before the 
mighty William and humbled themselves in the dust 
of the centuries; hearing in their ears — one can be- 
lieve — the knell of their own hopes, but not yet catch- 
ing the tolling of the death-strokes of the entire Acro- 
polis. Osmund, who had come with the Conqueror 
from Normandy, a military man and Chancellor, was 
second bishop of Sarum, and here he lived long to 
enjoy high honors and a good fortune, for William 
out of love for him gave him great posses- 
sions. Osmund finished the Cathedral and in it his 
bones were interred, after his death at a venerable age. 



SALISBURY, <>LI> SARUM, STONEHENGE 183 

The curious may yet sec the slab which covered his 
bo.lv in Sarum, in Salisbury Cathedral, to which it 
was transferred after the newer edifice was completed. 
The grave itself was uncovered in 1835, but was 
empty. Great state trials occurred under Osmond's 
prelacy in the days of William Rufus. When Henry 
the First took the throne he frequently held court at 
Sarum. Prelates, barons, feudal retainers, soldiers, 
lackeys were in Sarum. These were days of " princely 
pomp and churchmen's pride." and we may doubt if in 
all Britain during several centuries there were more 
glorious events happening than on this same round 
hill of a few acres in extent. Then the downfall came. 
Pickerings and quarrels, of course, between military 
men and ecclesiastics. It was found that the Cathedral 
was on a hill where the winds were strong and cold. 
" When the wind did blow," says the old tradition, 
" they could not hear the priest say mass." And there 
was no room for the city to grow except upon the 
plains outside. The situation led to plans for a new 
edifice, and it was decided to erect it where Salisbury 
now is, on the banks of the Avon. Could it be that 
present Salisbury owes its origin in the past to the 
north wind? " What has the house of the Lord to do 
with castles?" said Peter de Blois, canon of the Cathe- 
dral; " it is the ark of the covenant in a temple of Baal- 
im. Let us in ( rod's name descend to the level." And 
descend they did. In 1220 Salisbury Cathedral began 
to arise and about 1250 it was completed. Xo other 
minster in the world was built in so short a time. At 
once the old city was abandoned as a populous place. 
Then it was abandoned altogether. The very stones 
were removed to build up a new town. The fort con- 
tinued to be garrisoned by soldiers, but for nearly 
four centuries past the birds have twittered and the 



184 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

red poppies bloomed over the dust that wholly buries 
from view all that once constituted the streets, the mar- 
ket-place, the homes of thousands of brave, living 
Saxon men and women. 

It is, indeed, a marvellous spectacle of absolute 
and irretrievable disaster. Everything gone, like snow 
of April or a prairie swept by fire. Only, instead of 
real desolation, there is the beauty of the velvet turf 
and of the wild flowers of summer. The sheep graze 
in the moat and by the escarpments; birds whirl and 
circle where the incense of altars ascended heaven- 
ward; and pilgrims like ourselves stand there with 
wondering and with wandering eyes, seeing no signs 
of human life this side of the one tall spire of that love- 
ly successor to the Osmund edifice two miles across 
the fields. 

" Here stood the City of the Sun: look round! 
Dost thou not see a visionary band, 
Druids and bards, upon the summit stand 

Of this forsaken but majestic mound? 

Dost thou not hear at times the acclaiming sound 
Of harps, as when the bards, in long array, 
Hail'd the ascending god of light and day? 

No! all is hushed; death's stillness, how profound!" 

It would be interesting to tarry to notice the other 
really great men whose names were connected with 
this spot, and show how the term " rotten borough" 
was first applied to the ruined site, when nobody lived 
there except a few tenants, although it returned men 
to Parliament; but we must mount the coach at the 
hill's foot and hasten on toward Amesburv. 

It is a bleak and inhospitable country between 
Sarum and Amesbury. The wind swept strongly from 
the north, and the " Shepherd of Salisbury Plain " 
was suddenly but really before us, with his faithful dog 
and sheep, just as, no doubt, he has been on these up- 



SALISBURY, OLD SARUM, STONEHEXGE 185 

lands for two thousand years. To the traveler the 
story of Hannah More and this quaint scene is welded 
vividly together. The sheep were on the knolls, the 
shepherd and his crook were near them, and the sheep- 
folds of wicker work were numerous. It seems singu- 
lar that in the fat, juicy pastures of English vales 
few sheep are seen, but many on the uplands and hills, 
where " storms beat fiercely and the rough winds 
blow." If anything, the ground slowly ascended as 
we proceeded, but on the whole the Plain is pretty 
level. The eye sweeps in a good many miles mainly 
over limestone lands, not well fertilized and not very 
productive. A real contrast, this, to the fields between 
Romsey and Salisbury. One of the things which 
marks a more striking difference is that no fences 
whatever, no hedge-rows, no stone walls are anywhere 
visible. The " Ingoldsby Legends" correctly describe 
it: 

"Oh! Salisbury Plain is bleak and bare, 
At least so I've heard many people declare, 
For I fairly confess 1 never was there. 

Not a shrub or a tree, 

Nor a bush can we see; 
No hedges or ditches, no gates and no stiles, 
Much less a house or a cottage for miles." 

Amesbury is a small place, the most striking feature 
of which to us was that it was the only town in Eng- 
land where at the main inn we were refused a repast. 
We drove up, first, to an exceedingly pretty post-office 
and then to the " George," and requested that in 
the course of an hour or two, when we should return 
from Stonehenge, we should be served with hot joints 
and coffee and, when this was not acceded to, on ac- 
count of the alleged lateness of the notice, that any- 
thing warm might be substituted. But the refusal was 



186 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

absolute. The undertaking was too great, or the dis- 
position of the host too slight. Did he stand in fear 
of our American appetites? If so, why not have in- 
creased the two-and-six-penny charge to ten shillings? 
We did find an attractive church in the town, later, and 
we did learn of the existence there of a most interest- 
ing Abbey, but of this presently. 

The coaches now turned abruptly to the left and 
westerly toward Stonehenge. The bleak Plain was, 
for a brief hour, left behind, and in its place were 
hills and charming: forest trees. Then the Plain came 




"An Exceedingly Pretty Post-office." 

to us again, just as abruptly as on leaving Old Sarum. 
The moment we reached this desert-looking land we 
saw, to the right, those two lines of heavy embank- 
ments where the Roman general, Vespasian, is be- 
lieved to have had his camp, the particulars of which 
no chronicler of his time seems to have preserved. It 
was not incongruous to have pointed out to us, later, 
a large field a little further to the north, where the 
English soldiers meet every summer for their annual 
drill, and where on another occasion I saw Red Coats 
by the thousand. In the distance the stones of Stone- 



SALISBURY, OKI ► SAIM'M. STONEHENGE 187 




1 88 BRIGHT DAYS IN MEKRIE ENGLAND 

henge seemed to be not large, but, being on rising, 
ground, were visible for miles away, except where 
small forests intercepted. Close by they proved to be- 
as immense as they are unique and mysterious. 

It was curiously, strangely gratifying to confront 
these old, old landmarks, about which antiquarians 
have puzzled for over a thousand years, but of which 
the most that can be said with accuracy is, " They are- 
prehistoric; that is all we know." Said Samuel Pepys 
more than two hundred years ago: " God knows what 
their use was! They are hard to tell, but yet may be 
told." The history, or rather the unhistory, of Stone- 
henge, is, paradoxical though it seems, a long and old! 
story. While the consensus of opinion seems to fa- 
vor that these stones were erected for religious pur- 
poses, under the direction of the early Druids, many 
writers have ascribed them to various nationalities and' 
different purposes, dating anywhere from Adam to 
the Fifth Century. The most singular notion, perhaps, 
was first disclosed in a lecture by a learned man about 
eighty years ago, who declared that the barrows of tu- 
muli surrounding this " Temple " accurately repre- 
sented the situation and magnitude of the fixed stars, 
forming a complete planisphere. Eight hundred of 
these, he said, could be seen by the unassisted eye, 
and he thought he traced fifteen hundred, the smaller 
representing stars too minute to be observed without 
some instrument similar to it. This appears to be 
rather fanciful; less so, perhaps, would seem to be the 
following from Mr. Higgins' work on " Celtic 
Druids:" ''' The most extraordinary peculiarity which 
the Druidical circles possess, is that of their agreement 
in the number of stones, of which they consist, with the 
ancient astronomical cycles. The outer circle of Stone- 
henge consists of sixty stones, the base of the most 



SALISBURY, OLD SARUM, STONEHBNGB 189 

famous of all the cycles of antiquity. The next circle 
consists of forty stones, but one on each side of the 
entrance is advanced out of the line, so as to leave nine- 
teen stones, a Metonic cycle, on each side, and the in- 
ner of one Metonic cycle, or nineteen stones. At 
Avebury we find all the outward circles and the ave- 
nues make up exactly six hundred, the Xeros, which 
Josephus says was known before the flood. The outer 
circles are exactly the number of degrees in each of 
the twelve parts into which, in my aerial castle-build- 
ing, I divided the circle, viz., twelve, and of the months 
in the year. We see the last measurement of Stone- 
henge, taken by Mr. Waltire, makes the second circle 
forty; but for the sake of making the two cycles of 
nineteen years, two of the stones, one on each side of 
the entrance, have been placed a little within." 

Who were the Druids? The earliest inhabitants of 
Britain, whose religious principles were, in divers re- 
spects, similar to the Brahmins of India, the Magi of 
Persia, and the Chaldeans of Assyria, whose leading 
principles were the unity of the Deity, His perfection 
and attributes, the transmigration of the soul, and its 
immortality. Rewards and punishments had relation 
to a future state. One of their most sacred solemni- 
ties was held on the sixth day of the moon in each 
month, and to be excluded from this was one of the 
severest of punishments. The gathering of the mistle- 
toe at the beginning of their New Year was also a 
ceremony of importance. Druidical rites were usually 
held beneath an oak, or in sacred groves of oak. Mr. 
Ferguson, the able author of the " Handbook of Ar- 
chitecture," in the " Quarterly Review " for July, i860, 
held to the theory that Stonehenge was erected after 
the Romans left the country. But Sir John Lubbock, 
in a later lecture, expresses the opinion that Stone- 



190 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



henge belonged to the Bronze Age, a supposition 
which he said was borne out by the large number of 
tumuli which are to be found around it. Mr. Cun- 
nington, an able local geologist, says: " To my mind 
geology proves Stonehenge to have been originally 
a temple, and neither a monument raised to the mem- 
ory of the dead, nor, as suggested by the late Rev. E. 
Duke, an astronomical calendar or almanac. In either 
of these cases there must have been no motive for 
seeking the materials elsewhere. The Sarsens would 
have answered every purpose, with less labour 




Studying the Stones. 

and with better effect. But if these were the sacred 
stones of some early colonists, a superstitious value 
would have been attached to them, and great care 
and labour bestowed on their preservation. There 
can be little doubt that the small monoliths are older 
than the outer circle and trilithons, and why may they 
not have composed a very ancient circular temple be- 
fore they were brought to Salisbury Plain? Why 
may not these have been the original ambres, or 
anointed stones,, around which the present circle was 
raised, when or by whom who can tell? It is, I think, 
probable that both the circles and the ovals were set up 



SALISBURY, <>LI> SARUM, STONEHENGE 191 

(as they now stand) about the same time; but I con- 
tend that the smaller and older stones had sacred, 
though to us mysterious, value attached to them." Mr. 
John Henry Parker, of ( )xford, author of a " Glossarx 
of Architecture,' - says: " Tn the Oriental language a 
circle of stones was called a Gilgal, and in Scripture 
there was every reason to believe that such a place 
was a circle of stones. A Gilgal was a temple where 
holy rites were celebrated, where the army met to- 
gether, and was also used for a place of burial for the 
chieftains; and if they put all things together, and 
took into consideration that the Celtic tribes were 
sprung from Oriental origin, it was clear that Stone- 
henge was a Gilgal. and was erected for the purpose of 
celebrating holy rites, a place where the army met and 
where the chieftains were buried. They might, there- 
fore, call it a burial place, or House of Commons.'* 
When our Nathaniel Hawthorne visited the spot in 
1855. he preferred to believe the stones were erected 
to commemorate the victory of Hengist. 

I counted seventeen upright stones and six im- 
posts. The upright average sixteen feet high and are 
eighteen feet in circumference. Xo ordinary appli- 
ances could have brought them to the spot, nor erected 
them with the imposts. The stones came from the 
general vicinity and were not " dropped there by the 
Devil." nor carried from Ireland.* 

•I have visited this place at least twice since this first coaching 
tour to it. Now it must be full of added interest, because on the last 
day of December, 1899, perhaps during the last minute of the last hour 
(for there was no human eye to see, no human ear to hear) one of the 
great stones fell. This fall has called attention to the fact that 
bury Circle," of similar stones, once numbering six hundred and 
fifty and now only twenty, was doubtless superior as a work of art 
to Stonehenge, but has nearly disappeared, arid that in time this 
strange sight will also have become a thing of the past, unless prompt 
measures are taken to preserve it. 



l 9 2 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

Stationed on the elevation of Stonehenge, the eye 
takes in a wide sweep over Salisbury Plain. Half a 
mile to the north lies the ancient Cursus, or race- 
course, enclosed between two parallel banks, running 
east and west. It is no yards in breadth and a mile 
and two-thirds in length. In the time of the Romans 
this course and its surroundings must have been 
crowded with chariots, horsemen and spectators, 
watching the competition for the prizes. Here it is 
where tradition fixes the spot that the fatal banquet 
took place, at which the Britons were treacherously 
slain by Hengist and his Saxons in 472. Far beyond 
lies the Camp of Vespasian, and still beyond the vale 
of the river Avon, where the bold hills and numerous 
picturesque woods appear and close in on the horizon. 
The eye has a still grander sweep over to the north and 
west, and whatever the character of the scene once, it 
is now one of complete solitude. Tupper's expressive 
lines are good reading here: 

" That there were giants in the olden time, 
These stones cry out; whether before the flood 
(As some have dreamt) in Earth's majestic prime 
The sons of Tubal piled up here sublime 
What ever since in mystery hath stood 
A miracle; or whether Merlin's rhyme, 
Or patriarchial Druids, with their brood 
Of swarming Celts, upreared them; — here they stand 
In Titan strength enormous, wonderful, 
The great primeval glory of our land; 
And, who can guess how stained with innocent blood, 
This Golgotha, this place of many a skull, 
Is peopled now with terrors of the past, — 
Poor ghosts, that howl on every driving blast?" 

We now drove back to Amesbury to forage for a 
noon meal. The only opportunity seemed to be at a 
grocery store, where poor biscuits and good cheese 
were in abundance. Some of the ladies found a worn- 



SALISBURY, OLD SAUl'.M. STONEHENGE 193 

an, in whose house they obtained a cup of tea. One 
of my comrades was a counsellor-at-law, of some age, 
plenty of experience, and mountains of common-sense, 
and he concluded the luncheon was not of half so 
much consequence as a good nap on top of the coach. 
And there I found him, in the public street, in front 
of the " George," just as soundly dozing as if — well, 
as if " drunk as a Scotchman." It was almost ludi- 
crous to see a sober, thrifty and sweet-tempered Penn- 
sylvania lawyer napping on the king's highway in so 
public a place, but I presume he reasoned that if an inn 
will not admit you, and you are tired even unto sleep, 
and your only couch is a coach, what else in the world 
are you to do? 

The Abbey has been referred to. Some say it was 
antedated by a monastery for three hundred monks, 
founded by Prince Ambrosius about A. D. 500, and 
destroyed by the Saxons at their invasion. However 
this may be, the more historic Abbey, with its memor- 
ies of fair nuns, and, later, of Trior and Gay, make rem- 
iniscences of Amesbury tender, if not altogether 
wholesome. It was over a thousand years ago (980) 
when the queen dowager of King Edgar came hither 
to found an abbey, and that she succeeded we know, 
for old chroniclers tell of the lovely looking nuns who 
made its charming cloisters merry by their presence, 
including one royal woman of whom all the world has 
heard: 

" Oueen Guinevere had fled the court, and sat 
There in the holy house of Amesbury 
W eeping, none with her save a little maid." 

Perhaps the beauty of these nuns contributed to their 
downfall, for when Henry II. heard of their staying 
out once over night, he dismissed them without the 



l 9 4 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

usual warning, although it seems to have been under- 
stood that the Abbess was the chief offender in point 
of bad morality. This was in n 77. But other nuns 
soon filled the places of those dismissed, and in course 
of time this Abbey was a retreat for an unusual number 
of well-born and high-born ladies, and one of the rich- 
est nunneries in the land. Had it not been for that 
merry but cruel monarch, Henry VIII., who shall say 
that princesses and duchesses might not now be ab- 
staining, or seeming to abstain, from the sins of the 
world behind its walls? But like all abbeys, this one 
came under the act of suppression and it became in 
time private property. It was at Amesbury where 
Eleanor, sister of Prince Arthur; Mary, daughter of 
Edward I.; Eleanor, Queen of Henry III.; Katharine 
of Aragon, and similar titled ladies took the veil. Here 
some of them lived; here most of them died. 

It was at this Abbey, an estate of 5,296 acres, where 
the Duke and Duchess of Queensberry resided about 
a century and a half ago, that the poet Gay, during 
a long visit, wrote the " Beggar's Opera." If Prior 
on a similar visit did not manufacture poems in the 
same beautiful location, it was because he was too 
much interested in exploring the interesting region 
roundabout. The room where Gay had his study is still 
shown, and near it is the room, where, says Thack- 
eray, he " was lapped in cotton, had his plate of chick- 
en and saucer of cream, and frisked and barked and 
wheezed, and grew fat and died." The Earl of Somer- 
set, the Aylesburys, the Boyles, the Queensberrys, 
and, in late years, the family of Sir Edmund Antro- 
bus owned the Abbey estate, and I hope the pleasure 
to be derived from it has been commensurate with its 
size. 

As the next chapter will show, we went forward 



SALISBURY, OLD SARUM, STONEHENGE 195 

from Amesbury to the cast and north. But on another 
day I drove back to Salisbury by the westerly route and 
found it to be a road which ought not to be missed. It 
is through the valley of the Avon and, besides a spe- 
cial charm in the drive, it is a noticeable place for 
hares, which I saw scamper about by the thousands. 
It was during this ride that I first heard the English 
skylark. No one who had ever read a description of 
his song could mistake the first sweet notes, high- 
keyed, jocund, startling, inspiring. There is nothing 
else in bird-voice like it. The little brown fellow sud- 
denly rose up from the meadow, and sang as he soared. 
He rose almost straight toward the zenith, and his 
joyous music, with its swift cadences and full gamut 
of melodies, thrilled the hearers, every one. We 
stopped our coaches to listen. Higher and higher, 
yet the song grew hardly fainter. Astonishing, that 
this little throat could warble such penetrating bird- 
notes in cloudland, so that the sounds of all other 
birds and all human voices near were insignificant in 
comparison. When I could not see him, being lost in 
the sun's rays, and, as I fancied, a quarter-mile above 
the earth, still he sang, and the sparkle and the loveli- 
ness of it haunted me all the afternoon long. After- 
ward I heard repeated in other places in this same 
part of England the same exquisite song — to which I 
know nothing else approximate — but never elsewhere 
than in southern England. 

Five miles from Stonehenge, Heale House is 
reached, where Charles II. spent some days after the 
battle of Worcester. It is an admirable example of an 
Elizabethan mansion, romantically located near the 
foot of a glen. When nearing Salisbury, Old Sarum is 
seen to better advantage than from any other distant 
point. A little west of this locality is the ground 



196 



RKKHIT KAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 



which Richard Coeur de Lion employed for those 
chivalrous amusements which excited the interest of 
the whole kingdom, and it is still known as " The Val- 
lev of the Tournament." 





Xig-tit View of "The Great While Horse." 



XIII.— "THE GREAT WHITE HORSE." 

i 

FROM AMESBURY to Marlborough is a rather 
severe drive of about twenty-four miles. It is a 
delightful one. however, in part along the Avon, 
and also through the queer villages of Tigheldeau, 
Nether Avon, Upavon and Pewsey. Nearing Marl- 
borough we saw a most ridiculous incident. There 
is a steep and interminably long hill to descend to 
reach the valley in which Marlborough is located, and 
it was considered best for all to get off the coaches 
and to walk. The coachers frequently walked up heavy 
hills, but rarely down any. This, however, looked 
dangerous. Several of us. to cut off the distance, 
went across a field, which was fully as steep as the hill. 
The grass was wiry and slippery. One young man, 
who did not care to put on brakes, found himself go- 
ing so fast that he could not stop. Presently, with a 
slide, whizz, sizz and tumble, he made a complete 
somersault or two and landed at the bottom, badly 
shaken up from head to heels. We were in horror at 
the apparent catastrophe, until he threw up hands as 
a sign that he was at least whole and had no bones 
broken. But his spectacles were in one place, his 



iq8 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

pocketbook in another, his watch in another, his hat 
was lost, his miscellaneous pocket things were every- 
whither. It took a search of some minutes to discover 
all these lost articles. " Marlborough Hill," when spok- 
en of after that, was the general signal for uncontrolla- 
ble laughter on the part of all but the victim. 

We reached the town at almost half-past seven in 
the evening, after a stupid drive through and a mile 
beyond the village. Mr. Franklin insisted we had 
not arrived at the place and would not make inquiry. 
It was one instance of where it is not prudent to be 
unwilling to ask questions. It was humorously in- 
teresting afterward to hear his explanation of how he 
had misunderstood the signs of a boy, whom he had 
interrogated when entering Marlborough, as to where 
the hotel was. The coach never appeared to me so 
much of a machine as when it was flying along into a 
town, and when Mr. Franklin would shout out to the 
first passer in stentorian tones: " Which way to the 
' FFangel,' or the ' Garter?' " and, from apparent sheer 
inability to stop the procession long enough to have 
the answer understood, would drive on pell-mell, just 
as wise as before putting the interrogatory. Within 
twenty miles of Oxford he knew all the hotels. But, 
like many Englishmen, he had never been much far- 
ther from home than London, and his instinctive 
knowledge of locations was nihil. We many a time 
lost the road, until I came, at last, into the habit of 
having a map of the county spread open before me, 
and watched all the turns with the assiduity of that do- 
mestic animal whose feline eye is ever toward the hole 
of the mouse. I remember once in Buckinghamshire 
shouting out, as we approached an unusually sharp 
turn, that we must go to the left. But it was down 
grade and the momentum carried the coach and horses 



THE GREAT WHITE HORSE 199 

past the corner. The way was too narrow for turning 
around; in fact, it requires the width of about two or- 
dinary English highways to get a coach-and-four re- 
versed. So we all alighted, the horses were unhitched, 
the coach was cranked, backed and pulled around by 
hand, and at last we were pointing toward the right 
goal. 

At the "Ailesbury Arms " some of us were made 
comfortable through a rainy night. Others, quartered 
at the " Angel,'* were not very happy. The town has a 
main street wide enough to turn around several 
coaches at a time, and while, generally speaking, it is 
not as quaint as its age would indicate, the place 
looked purely townish. It looked sleepy, too; dull, 
ugly, yet substantial. 

Marlborough has a fine old history before and af- 
ter the Civil Wars. Henry I. kept his Easter there 
about 1 109. Henry HI. had his Parliament sit 
there to enact " the statutes of Malbridge," the old 
form of the name. It had a notable " Castle Inn," for- 
merly Lord Seymour's house, whose namesake, the 
"Castle and Ball," still entertains travelers. Evelyn 
dined there in 1652, when that was " one of the finest 
inns of the three kingdoms." But somehow we pre- 
ferred the " Ailesbury," because said to be better kept, 
and one must go by reputation in selecting inns in 
a foreign country. If, however, the old " Castle Inn" 
itself had been open for guests, surely we could not 
have passed that by, not only for Thomson's and Eve- 
lyn's sakes, but because many generations of great 
men had placed their names on its historic pages. 
" Why," says Tristram, whose " Coaching Days and 
Coaching Ways " contains many a good story of ye 
olden time. " why, the mere writing of the names 
would make history, and a more suggestive one than 



200 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

many chronicles of the kings. Chesterfield and Lady 
Alary Wortley Montagu making for scandal and the 
waters; Walpole reclining in his chariot, meditating 
his ailments; Llwyn, most good-natured of voluptu- 
aries, who, however, liked to see a man hanged ; Sher- 
idan running away with his beautiful wife; Garrick 
posting to Bath in search of new talent and to depre- 
ciate Barry;" and he also mentions Byron and others. 
" The names of the visitors at this celebrated inn," he 
adds, " are written in the letters and diaries of three 
generations." Lord Chatham once had the gout when 
on his way from Bath to London, in 1762, and " he 
made it an insistive condition to his staying at the 
' Castle ' that every servant in the place, from the wait- 
er to the stable boy, should wear his livery." This ad- 
vertised him and the hotel throughout the whole coun- 
try. There was a " Hart Inn " here when Pepys visited 
it sixteen years later than Evelyn, and he describes it 
as a good house. The old " Castle Inn " is now part of 
the College, and it is this institution which gives Marl- 
borough its present character as a staid and useful 
place. It is a school only fifty-five years old, but al- 
ready one of the largest in the kingdom. When Lord 
Seymour had the old inn as his mansion, and the 
Countess of Hertford presided over the guest-cham- 
bers, the poet Thomson was a visitor and there com- 
posed a part of his delightful " Seasons." 

Six miles west of Marlborough is Avebury Circle, 
believed generally to be older than Stonehenge, and, 
by some, to date from the time of Abraham. It was 
out of our way and so these remains, Adamic, Noahic, 
Abrahamic, Druidic, or otherwise, we did not see. 

The next morning we got off unusually early, for 
we all needed to reach Wantage by two o'clock to 
catch a train for London. This day was to end our 



THE GREAT WHITE HORSE 201 

second season's coaching in this part of England. It was 
a good twenty-five miles drive in the roundabout way 
we took, but the weather was fine and cool, and every- 
body, horses included, was in excellent spirits.. I low 
we did make the dust fly in our hot haste! There 
were hills in abundance, for we were in the hilly part 
of the countv of Berks. From Marlborough to Lam- 




"How We Did Make the Dust Fly." 



bourn, the place where we expected to lunch, was a 
crooked route. I endeavored to shorten it by a cut 
through Ramsbury Manor, but learned a lesson by it. 
which is that private estates are not intended to be 
driven through without permission previously ob- 
tained. The incident furnished the only excitement 
of the day. The new route was really taken because 
some bicyclists passing by advised it. Tt gave us a 



202 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

river and meadow drive of unusual charm. But at the 
outgoing gate an old man stopped us and refused to 
allow the coaches to go through. . He insisted that 
there was a notice by the gate of " No Admittance." 
Mr. Franklin insisted as correctly that the other end 
of the manor contained no such notice. The affair 
became warm, when driver R. of the second coach, 
whose level American head came to the fore, dis- 
mounted, got down to business, and proposed to go 
and see the owner. Sir Francis Burdett, and report the 
gate-keeper. This opened the gate! Ramsbury vil- 
lage will chiefly be remembered for its monkey and 
trained canaries, and its fine old witch-elm. 

The view before reaching Lambourn was supreme 
above all views we had had, if not in extensiveness, 
certainly in beauty. The grain fields and harvests 
and the peculiarly lovely situation of the town in the 
valley, will long be photographed in memory. The 
street was full of children and our coach Antiquarian 
found the village rector at hand to escort him to the 
town church. Host of us hurriedly obtained luncheon 
at a neat, good inn, where was not only an excellent 
meal of good bread, marmalade, cheese and milk,' at 
one shilling each, but where some old paintings, a 
large and finely polished old sideboard, pretty old 
plaques of hammered brass and other rare antiquities 
attracted our attention. 

And now for the last eight-mile pull to our jour- 
ney's end. The day was the quintessence of beauty. 
What an inspiration in the very inbreathing of the 
pure, cool air! On every hand were serene and cheer- 
ful views of valleys and hills. The whole country 
breathed history, Roman and Saxon. If we could only 
have paused here longer and hunted up more of the 
landmarks of Fnglish progress, which local history 



THE GREAT WINTK HORSE 



203 



states arc on every side We had not proceeded far 
-when the distant hills near I'ffington crave vts a clear 
and noble view of " Alfred the Great's White Horse." 




Stopping <i Moment tit a Wayside Inn. 



\ lordly animal he was: three hundred and seventy 
feet long! That excels all the mastodons, whales and 
horses ever written of by the scientists and geologists; 



204 BRIGHT DAYS' IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

and yet it is a verity. A thousand years old and 
more, but still in existence and as much alive as ever. 
There are comparatively few American travelers who 
have seen this " White Horse," as it is not on the 
usual lines of travel. More of them have seen a sim- 
ilar representative of a man, known as " The Long" 
Man of Wilmington," on one of the chalk hills in 
Kent, when approaching the southern coast near Ber- 
wick. That is two hundred and forty feet high, cut out 
of the side of the chalky hill, and is believed to ante- 
date the days of Caesar. Perhaps King Alfred took his 
cue from the Celtic giant, in patterning the horse. In 
any event there is good reason for the Berkshire yeo- 
manry to be proud of their equine treasure. What lit- 
tle was known of this older Uffington animal was 
brought out in print about the year 1857, when there 
was a celebration of the event by the people of Berk- 
shire, and when, as a result, Thomas Hughes wrote 
his " Scouring of the White Horse." He based it 
upon the tales afloat in the White Horse region, and 
also upon ancient chronicles. The earliest written 
record of the Horse is in a cartulary of Abingdon 
Abbey, now in the British Museum, of date about 
1 171. But there seems to be every reason to believe 
that this equine goes back to Saxon days: to the 
times of those great Berkshire battles in which that 
Christian king. Alfred, with his brother .^thelred,. 
fought against the pagan Danes and finally " wal- 
loped " them well on White Horse Hill. It is just a 
bit uncertain where one or two of these battles occur- 
red (there were nine in one year, and each was fought 
to the finish), but that of Ashdown, which turned the 
tide for Alfred, was probably near Uffington. That 
spot, where six pagan earls fell, says Hughes, " was- 
Alfred's crowning mercy: and so he felt it to be. and 



THE GREAT WHITE HORSE 

in memory of it he caused his army (tradition says on 
the day after the battle) to carve the White Horse. 
the standard of Hengist, on the hillside, just undei 
Castle, where it stands as you see until this day." This 
was in the year 871. Hengist had been the Danish 
general to first overrun Jiritain four hundred years 
before, and Alfred was the first native-born general 
aide to cope with Hengist's successors. Ever since 
Alfred's day the Horse has been more <>r less regu- 
larly "scoured." That is, every quarter-century or 
less the people of Berks, who have prided themselves 
on the relic, have had a festival day, when pi 
would be given for manly sports, in honor of the old 
victory, while men with shovels and picks would dig 
out anew the trench deep into the chalk and bring 
into relief again the marvellous old animal. The white 
chalk of the figure, exposed to the width of ten. and to 
the depth of two or thr< ontrasting with the 

n of the hillside, made it a conspicuous object, 
visible miles and mile- away, but it would get dingy and 
grown over until patriotic and local pride called in the 

-tival " to whiten it again. In 1736 an antiquarian 

'e that tl tring " was an " • m," and 

there are printed record- of it in 1755. 1700. 1776. 1780, 

5, and e do not 

change much as to the occupatioi 
on such holidays. The noti< 1 

is not very unlike what I have seen a : in 

America for a Xew \ . in a village in the Mid- 

dle Stat' 

TIE HORSE HILL 766. 

The scowering & cleaning of the W: 
day, the 27th day of May, on which day a will be run for 

rear White Horse Hill by any horses, etc., that never run for any- 



2o6 BRIGHT KAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

thing, carrying n stone, the best of two three miles neats, to start at 
10 o'clock. 

Between the heats will be run for by poneys a saddle, bridle, & 
whip, the best of three two mile heats. The winner of two heats wilf 
be entitled to the saddle; the second best the bridle, & the third 
the whip. The same time a five Thill Harness will be run for by cart 
horses, etc., in their harness & bells, the carters to ride in smock, 
frocks without saddles, crossing & jostling, but no whipping allowed. 

A flitch of bacon to be run for by asses. 

A good hat to Dc run for by men in sacks, every man to bring 
his own sack. 

A waistcoat, ios. 6d. value, to be given to the person who shall 
take a bullet out of a tub of flour with his mouth in the shortest 
time. 

A cheese to be run for down the White Horse Manger. 

Smocks to be run for by ladies, the second best of each prize to 
be entitled to a silk hat. 

CUDGEL PLAYING for a GOLD LACED HAT, & a pair of 
buckskin breeches, & WRESTLING for a pair of silver buckles, & a 
pair of pumps. 

The horses to be on White Horse Hill, by nine o'clock. 

No less than four horses or asses to start for any of the above 
prizes. 

This whole neighborhood is historic ground. 
Aery near is the " Blowing Stone," where, if you blow 
into an aperture, the trumpet-like tones are — the 
neighbors say — " audible for several miles." It is 
just a bit of red sandstone, about three feet high and 
broad, and two feet thick, pierced on three sides with 
holes, and when blown with a powerful pair of lungs 
it does give a dull, moaning sound, but I suspect not 
even King Alfred could have made it heard at Uffing- 
ton. The tradition that that King used it as a bugle 
with which to call his troops together is pretty, even 
if it be not quite true. Below the White Horse is a 
curious deep gully, called the " Manger." One side of 
this hill falls in sweeping curves and is called the 
" Giant's Stairs," and the other side is called " Pen- 
dragon's Hill." after a traditionary chieftain buried 
there. Xear by is " Wayland Smith's Cave," mentioned 
by Sir Walter Scott in " Kenilworth." Tradition says 



THE GREAT WHITE HOUSE 207 

it was formerly inhabited by an invisible blacksmith, 
win) good-naturedly shod any horse that was left 
there, provided a piece of money was left at the same 
time to defray the cost of his labors. Uffington Cas- 
tle, abont seven hundred feet square, is on the site 
of a Roman camp, but it is not an attractive ruin. 

Wantage is the birthplace of King Alfred, and. for 
that reason, if for no other, is entitled to the venera- 
tion of every English-speaking man or woman. Here 
the voting prince first saw the light in 848, (or 849), 
an event .celebrated in 1848 by the erection of a gram- 
mar school by popular subscription. The town 
has his statue, unveiled by the present King Edward 
VII. in 1877, and the work of a nephew of Queen 
Victoria, Count Gleichen. It bears the inscription: 
"Alfred the Great, the West Saxon King, born at 
Wantage. A. 1). 841). Alfred found learning dead, 
and he restored it; education neglected, and he re- 
vived it; the laws powerless, and he gave them force; 
the church debased, and he raised it; the land ravaged 
by a fearful enemy, from which he delivered it. Al- 
fred's name shall live as long as mankind shall respect 
the past." What is known as " Alfred's Well " is be- 
lieved to mark the site of the birthplace, but, of course, 
this is traditional, and, therefore, chiefly conjectural. 
When Alfred died he gave to his wife by his will " the 
home at Wantage," but just where it was and what it 
was is not known. On the whole the town itself, says 
a late newspaper writer, " does not contain many rem- 
iniscences of the Saxon King, although his name is 
often used by the inhabitants for distinguishing places 
of business. The Alfred's Head is one of the 
inns, and a grocery store goes by the name of King 
Alfred's Stores. . There is a petrifying stream, which 
for manv vears has received great attention from tour- 



208 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

ists, because it runs through a red brick well, which is 
called King Alfred's Bath. It is, however, certain 
that the bricks are not two hundred years old. Several 
years ago, when there was a celebration in honor of 
the Saxon King in Wantage, it had been arranged that 
a procession should be formed to Alfred's well, but 
much confusion was caused by the fact that a rival 
well had been found. The good people of Wantage 
were divided, and some went to one well and some to 
the other, to the amusement of those who had as- 
sembled to enjoy the proceedings." There is a par- 
ish church in it, " one of the quaintest in the country," 
it is said, and of the Thirteenth Century, but I did 
not see it. The newest thing to be said of Wantage, 
perhaps, is that it has given shelter to and taken the 
shekels from the modern, uncrowned king, Richard 
Croker, who has made Moat House one of the fine 
residential places of Berks. The inhabitants of the 
parish are delighted, for he has paid them good wages 
and given them long jobs, just as his practice has been 
in that great centre of Tammany's recent enthrone- 
ment, New York City. 

Wantage is in a charming locality. The town of 
thirty-eight hundred people is not so beautiful, but the 
views of hills and valleys around it are singularly at- 
tractive. 










■-' >, 


! 














■ 


*iMj»am: ,:.:. 


* !W ****2Sr 


hi "i OMtti 


mUBammsm 


- 









A HI im pie of Windsor. 



XIV.— THE HENLEY RACES AND WINDSOR 
CASTLE. 

ON THE first week in July of the year succeed- 
ing- the driving tour, of which the preceding nar- 
rative gives account, I was again able to ar- 
range for a tour by coaches, three in number, beside 
one brake, beginning at Oxford. It was for a third 
drive through Central England. We first drove about 
the old University city again, and then, at two o'clock, 
the fourteen horses and their drivers being impatient 
to point noses toward Reading, we made the start. The 
brass and nickel of the harness and the coaches and 
the coats of the horses shone, it seemed to me, with 
new lustre that day. Even the drivers in their long, 
tan-colored coats and high-up, spotless, polished boots, 
looked unusually well groomed. Was it because, this 
time, they were to watch the races, and also get pretty 
close to the real residence of the Queen? The English 
will dress for those two occasions. The sky was some- 
what leaden. There were forebodings of rain. What 
if the whole week should prove stormy? But as no 

14 



210 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

previous coaching week had, we did not borrow 
trouble. 

The route to Reading has been described. We 
had the same delightful experience at Streatley, as 
before, but, this time, we did not leave there until about 
six o'clock, after doing some rowing on the Thames. 
It was also after we had heard that just a little while 
later than the hour we had left Oxford a terrific thun- 
der shower had burst over that town, deluging the 
streets, and with enough fierce lightning to destroy 
several buildings. Also, after news reached us of the 
terrible defeat of the Yale crew at Henley. But 
this last bit of news did not quench our eagerness to 
see Henley next day. So, without rain upon us, with, 
in fact, a bright declining sun, and with bugles blow- 
ing and our flags flying, we left Streatley and hast- 
ened down past Pangbourne and Moulsford to Read- 
ing; the " biscuit town of Reading," as one called 
it. It was seven-thirty in the evening when we dashed 
up to the " Queen's," and the welcome notice " dinner 
has been waiting half an hour," found us well prepared 
to do it justice. 

The Reading hotel was not presumed to be differ- 
ent from what it was a year before, and yet it was. 
For the dinner was not served to us in the dining-room, 
but out " on the green." Will those who enjoyed 
that dinner ever forget the beauty of the green and 
the bewitching surroundings? It was just in the rear 
of the hotel, enclosed by its walls, and those of a high 
brick fence; secluded and composed of a green as 
soft and exquisite to the touch as velvet. A huge, 
round tent was in the centre; the canvas in places 
turned up to let in light. There, on camp chairs, be- 
fore a regularly spread feast, we had a menu fit for a 
king, but the practical features of it were not so sat- 



HENLEY RACES AND WINDSOR _>u 

isfactory. One of the party, a bonnie-minded clergy- 
man, not at all hard to please, thus graphically de- 
scribed the meal: " Ye shades of Delmonico, what a 
repast! Steaming soup, first ; great plates full of it. 
How our eyes dilated as it came toward us. But what 
coughing and sneezing and sputtering as. one after 
the other, we tasted the concoction. White pepper, 
black pepper, red pepper, tobasco, curry sauce? What 
had they put into it? It could not be eaten. And so, 
after the fashion of the King of France, who marched 
his ten thousand men up the hill and then marched 
them down again, the grim-looking, un- Frenchified, 
swallow-tailed waiters, who had set the soup before 
us, took it away again. Then came fish — three or 
four kinds upon one platter; good as far as it went, 
but so inadequate for our needs. Then roast beef, 
not the typical English joint, but a half-cooked por- 
tion, evidently hastily prepared for the emergency. 
Then cheese, butter, crackers and undressed lettuce. 
We waited for more; w'e could not be persuaded that 
the meal was over. And we might have devoured the 
tables or expostulated with the landlord had not the 
' village band,' at this juncture, put in an appearance 
to play for us, and soon some of the younger mem- 
bers of the party were tripping ' the light, fantastic toe ' 
and disappointment was forgotten." I quote this to 
show how even with the best intentions on the part of a 
landlord, a meal may not be as satisfactory as an 
elaborate menu presages. 

The village band is an institution in every town 
and hamlet in England. It volunteers its services 
when numbers of strangers are known to be at a ho- 
tel, and then expects a collection. I have many pleas- 
ant reminiscences of these town bands at various 
places. They helped along many a weary evening, 



212 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

and gave the people opportunity to dance occasionally, 
when they felt like it. 

After the band, bed; but it was a curious experi- 
ence that night to secure a bed. Every necessary 
place had been engaged for our big family, but every 
available place seemed to have been pre-empted by 
casual travelers, who drop down on Reading at times 
as if from the clouds. " The hotel accommodations al- 
ways were inadequate," said a resident. I found it so, 
and should probably give this city a wide berth on a 
future expedition, although it is fair to say that the 
Henley races had brought in an unusually large crowd 
for the week. Next morning it was almost jocular — 
to the questioner, never to the questioned — to hear 
the inquiries as to whether one's friend was " over 
that cigar shop," or " in that reception-room of such 
a club," or " in the Bull Inn," which, by the way, was 
as dirty as an Arab hut. ' 

Henley was ten miles distant. It was not on the 
program, but I persuaded Mr. Franklin to put it there, 
and the offer of special " pour boire " for some ad- 
ditional miles over the daily contract pleased even the 
drivers and lackeys. The direct route is by Caver- 
sham and Shiplake. But for some reason we chose 
the road to Twyford, which was a blunder. It was a 
blunder, first, because we subsequently returned to it 
from Henley, and we might have diversified our route; 
and, second, because if we had not seen an apparently 
comfortable hotel there we might have dined at a 
better when luncheon time arrived. We found Hen- 
ley full up to the brim, with horses, wagons, carts, 
brakes, coaches and people. Long before reaching 
it the dust and animation of vehicles on the roadway 
proved we were drawing near to a vortex of excite- 
ment. Almost sixty years (from June, 1839) had 



HENLKY RACES AND WINDSOR 



^3 




2i4 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

passed since these annual July races were begun at 
Henley, and yet the same contrasts of wealth and 
fashion with plainness and poverty are to be seen 
on every day of the week set aside to aquatic sports. 
Henley has a population of five thousand in ordinary 
times, and probably fifty thousand when the crews 
are racing. No games in Roman days occasioned 
more betting, or general stir upon the populace, than 
do these modern races. Even from Ireland there were 
beggars, and, of course, there were representative on- 
lookers from America and many parts of the earth. 

The sight was one long to be remembered. The 
river is not wide; not half as wide as one would sup- 
pose it ought to be for a good, square race, and it 
gently bends at this point. Any email boy could throw 
a stone across it. The course is also short, (perhaps a 
half-mile long), beginning just below the Henley 
bridge, which latter is an old stone structure of four 
arches and a balustrade, an ornament of architecture 
likely to stand for another semi-millenium of years. 
I stood a long time on the bridge tp see the various 
boats. Until " time " was called, the little stream was 
packed with boats and steam launches, chiefly the 
former, which were adorned as if for an aquatic bal 
masque. The ladies in them were dressed in the latest 
Parisian fashions, with bright colors and gay French 
or Japanese parasols, and their brothers, husbands, 
friends or beaux were in the nattiest summer cos- 
tumes, with red, blue or yellow neckties, and soft 
white hats, or none at all. Hither and yon they flit- 
ted just for pleasure and to be in the midst of gaiety. 
There were cloudless skies and a bright sun. If there 
is ever smoke or fog at Henley, it was absent on this 
particular day. Along the banks were row on row of 
bright, cheerful, happy men, women and children, 



HENLEY RACES AND WIXPSOU 



215 



each eager for the next contest, and each with his fa- 
vorite contestants. We have such crowds in our land, 
but there is a distinct difference. ( )ne of our party 
aptlv said: " You could see and feel the difference 
better than it can be described." Let me quote once 
more from the description of my clerical companion: 
*' Soon the boom of a gun is heard. Steam launches, 
running up and down the river, force the boats to- 
ward either bank. A course is cleared through the 




"Leander is Ahead." 

centre of the stream. Another gun. Leander, the 
crew which outrowed the Yale boys the day before, 
and New College, are contesting for the prize. Here 
they come, with steady, even swing, side by side, ap- 
parently. Xo. Leander is ahead. Leander crosses 
first. The Yale boys are pleased, for it proves that 
the crew which outrowed them the day before was 
a crack crew. The English cry: 'Bravo! Bravo! 
Well rowed, Leander! Well rowed! ' And almost 



216 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

before you could look again the river is black once 
more with boats." I saw this single race. It was not 
America's day; that was the preceding day when the 
English won. This time the different English college 
crews were contesting against themselves, and of 
course with us the interest in the result was not in- 
tense. 

We were off for Twyford, a five-mile heat, for 
luncheon. Twyford, which, of course, means " two 
fords," is on a little branch of the Thames, known as 
the Loddon, and while it is but a cross-roads hamlet 
of perhaps a dozen houses, it boasts of two hotels. 
One inn to a town would never satisfy the wants of 
travelers or of topers in this land of itinerants and 
tourists. Perhaps there is a rivalry between " pub- 
lics," as all places with bars are termed, which tends 
to enhance business. With our fourteen horses to care 
for, and a party of hungry Americans, it was natural 
that we should hope for plenty of courtesy, if not of 
provender, but we received neither. " Can you give 
me a glass of water for one of the ladies?" was one 
of the first inquiries of a gentleman of our party. " Is 
that all you want?" was the reply. " Yes." " Here it 
is; tu'pence, please; it's a bother to furnish every- 
body with water." " Can I wash my hands in this 
bowl?" "Yes; thri'pence. And we shall have to 
charge you sixpence for getting that mark on the ta- 
blecloth." A few began a quiet game of whist while 
waiting for others to finish lunch in a corner of the 
parlor. "You will have to put that game up; no 
one is allowed to play here without a license." Great 
was the law, and greater still the charges at the 
" King's Arms " hotel at Twyford. We never forgot 
it. It was so unusual, so contrary to English hos- 
pitality, which elsewhere we found to be as genuine 



HENLEY RACES AND WINDSOR 217 

as it is proverbial. My clerical friend in writing af- 
terward of this curious scene, added a bit of history 
as to another and private house in Twyford, which 
made the spot as green in the memory of a few as the 
" King's Arms " was black in the remembrance of the 
many: " In marked contrast to this sole instance of 
such ungracious treatment was the experience of two 
other members of the party. Strolling up the road a 
little, they came to a small thatched cottage, by the 
gate leading up to which a woman was standing. ' My 
good woman, do you know anyone hereabouts who 
would be willing to make us a cup of tea? You see 
there are quite a number of us, and the accommoda- 
tions at the hotel are hardly sufficient. "We do not 
want much. Only a cup of tea.' ' Why, yes." was the 
cordial response; ' I think we can make it for you. 
Can't we, mother?' And, as she spoke, she turned 
toward a white-haired woman, who had been attracted 
to the door. ' I am sure we can. Come right in. You 
look dusty. Wouldn't you like water and a basin 
and some towels? Make yourselves at home. You 
are from America? My old man always wanted to go 
there. He is too old now. He is in the garden with the 
flowers. He loves flowers. You'd better come into the 
front room. You'll find the rocking chair more com- 
fortable. Our house is not grand: but it is homelike. 
You'll have some bread also, won't you? And a little 
cake? We pride ourselves on our tea. My oldest daugh- 
ter is housekeeper to Lady Somerset. And this daugh- 
ter has worked for Lady Somerset, too. Take another 
cup. I'll make a fresh drawing. It's no trouble. Tea 
is not good after it has stood. How much? Well, I 
don't know. Would three pence be too much for all?' 
They gave her sixpence each. They went out with 
her to see the ' old man ' in the garden. Thev were 



218 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

feasted with cherries and loaded with flowers. And 
when, a little later, the coach rolled by, the old man, 
his wife and his daughter were standing at the gate 
to wave good-bye to the three who felt that they had 
been generously admitted to an humble, but yet neat 
and attractive English peasant home." 

The next ten miles was up a three-mile hill and 
then on a level stretch through a long and lane-like 
road, approximately near Maidenhead, to Windsor. 
It was a pretty drive throughout, with many a quaint 
hamlet through which we dashed at splendid speed 
so as to reach Windsor before the dinner hour. Some 
miles before we reached the residence of royalty we 
saw the court flag floating from the familiar Round 
Tower, the old Norman structure that had so proudly 
dominated the landscape in this region for eight and a 
half centuries. There it stood, up on the hill top, over- 
looking all the landscape round. Proud, erect, stal- 
wart tower, symbol of monarchy, but also of human 
liberty; how can we wonder that English hearts have 
grown self-reliant and English eyes have become ten- 
der with tears, when they have looked upon its embat- 
tled cresting and seen the quartered flag of the lions 
spread to the breeze, over the spot where their gra- 
cious Queen had so long spent her sweet life and 
gathered about her an honored court. At the time 
of which I write she was living; now she is radiant in 
another sphere. 

" iier court was pure; her life serene; 

God gave her peace; her land reposed; 
A thousand claims to reverence closed 
In her as Mother, Wife and Queen. 

" And statesmen at her council met 

Who knew the seasons when to take 
Occasion by the hand, and make 
The bounds of freedom wider yet 



HENLEY RACES AM) WINDSOR 219 

" By shaping some august decree. 

Which kept her throne unshaken still, 
J '.read-based upon her people's will 
And compass'd by the inviolate sea." 

I saw nothing as we neared Windsor except the 
Castle, and thought of nothing save her whose pres- 
ence made the town what it was, and whose personal 
character had in such a great degree made England 
renowned. 

There are lew better hotels in the kingdom than 
the " White Hart " at Windsor. It directly laces the 
main street and the railway station, and also the walls 
of the Castle itself. From its front door you see the 
high battlements, but not the highest or sternest fea- 
tures of the Castle. The best view of that, if yon wish 
to look upon strength and dignity, is from a point 
beyond the railway near Windsor. The less stern view 
is from the Windsor Great Park on the side directly 
opposite from the railway. This Park has always be- 
longed to the Queen as crown property. It was al- 
most a shock to find the town cringing up so closely to 
the Castle itself; an attachment to it, as it were. But 
once ascend the hill and look off from the north ter- 
race, or from the Round Tower, and the town disap- 
pears. The view is over and beyond it. or away from 
it: you would not know a town was near. The out- 
look from the terrace is extensive in one direction, 
but once ascend the tower and it becomes vast in every 
direction. ( )ff to the south lies Runnymede, where 
King John wrested Magna Charta from the barons. 
Not Ear away from it Charles Fox had his home, the 
man whom our Revolutionary heroes always remem- 
bered with delight. For he was the one conspicuous 
friend of America in that long, long struggle. Far 
out bevond Kton College, which is so close by, is 



220 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

Stoke Pogis, and over yonder on the cliffs is Cliveden, 
home of Mr. Astor, formerly residence of the wealthy 
Duke of Westminster, where those early Norsemen, 
who sent an expedition up the Thames to gather boo- 
ty, buried their chief in a giant mound, with masses of 
gold and delicately wrought work, and where no> 
doubt he sleeps unto this day. Frogmore, where 
rest Prince Alfred and his devoted consort, Queen 
Victoria, is just below in the Great Park. If you look 
far enough and the day is at all clear, there will be dis- 
cerned on the far horizon the yellow smoke that rises 
above the mightiest city in the world. The landscape 
is everywhere dotted with oaks, limes and innumera- 
ble hedgerows, and little and big forests. The Thames 
winds in its serpentine course, and as it creeps off into 
the distance looks like a thread of silver. There are 
no sterile patches, no uncultivated tracts of cleared' 
land, but everywhere meadow and forest, all as green 
as emerald, and as stately, quiet and cheerful as if the 
whole were a private estate. Surely this locality never 
knew the drum-beat of war, but only the conquests 
of peace! 

The Normans were no weak builders. They were 
great architects and prophetic seers. They fortified 
summits strong by nature and made them almost im- 
pregnable. They knew war would continue and they 
arranged for it. Their two strongest towers were at 
London and Windsor. But they also made Durham, 
Carisbrooke and Edinburgh as we still see them. 
Each was as majestic as it was enduring. The fairest 
view from any is from Windsor, and this, perhaps, to- 
gether with its proximity to London, has made it the 
favorite residence of the English kings since the days 
of the great William. I have referred to the Round 
Tower as if it alone of the Castle structure is mem- 



HEXLKY RACKS A.\I> WINDSOR 221 




222 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERBIE ENGLAND 

orable. But the assembled whole of the vast mass of 
buildings that cluster around it, or that extend down 
past St. George's Chapel, is full of dignity and majesty. 
There are other towers and apartments, both state and 
private; in fact, the Castle site alone covers thirteen 
acres of ground, and the Great Park eighteen hundred 
acres, so that, in all. King Edward now rules at will 
nearly three square miles of buildings and land when 
he is in residence at Windsor. 

It is a good plan to consider a little what the his- 
tory of such a spot is, before one enters any of its in- 
terior rooms. The exterior looks so fresh, in the main, 
that a stranger to its history will scarcely believe its 
age. There are no semblances in this regard between 
Edinburgh Castle, or the Tower of London, admirably 
preserved as they are, and this Castle, because they 
show age and this does not. Whether it is the quality 
of the stone, which is probable, or renovations of its 
surface, which would also explain it, it is certain that it 
is difficult to connect Windsor, when your eye is upon 
it, with any Middle Age fortress whose history 
has thrilled the readers of books from the day of Wil- 
liam the Conqueror to the present time. Yet in reality 
Windsor not only dates from William's day — and as 
a fortified site from Roman times — but the old Saxon 
kings, among them Edward the Confessor, held court 
within two miles of the spot (at Old Windsor), and 
from William's time till now it has been the abode of 
almost every English sovereign. We may picture 
these curious kings and queens of post-Norman days 
at Winchester, at Woodstock, at London, at Hampton 
Court and elsewhere, but Windsor was the central 
fortress, castle and palace; it has memories of al- 
most all of the blood royal. Edward I. and Eleanor 
had chivalric spectacles and tournaments in this 



HENLEY. RACES AND WINDSOR 223 

Great Park. Henry I. and his queen resided here. 
King Stephen assured Henry 11. that this Castle 
should belong' to him and his successors forever. King" 
John made it his home, when those famous confer- 
ences of peace were held at Runnymede. Henry III. 
built a chapel where the Albert Chapel now is. Ed- 
ward I. and Edward 11. were constantly here. Ed- 
ward 1 1 1., whose native place it was, added to the struc- 
ture much of its present extent and grandeur. Rich- 
ard II. held in Windsor Park his jousts of "forty 
knights and forty squires," " to be apparelled in green 
with a white falcon." Henry VI. was born within 
these walls. Edward IV. made St. George's Chapel 
what it now is. Henry VII. constructed the present 
Chapel of the Tombs. Henry VIII. built the gateway 
and held his court at Windsor. Edward VI. was hur- 
ried hither by the Protector Somerset from Hampton 
Court in the middle of the night, when the boy-king 
exclaimed: " Methinks I am in prison; here be no 
galleries, nor no gardens to walk in." Elizabeth made 
the gallery and frequented the Castle and its terrace 
many and many a month. James I. was prisoner 
here, as was Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey. Charles 
II. used it for his summer residence and decorated its 
state apartments, and here gave " little dinners " to 
his Xell Gwynn. George II. began to restore it in 
nearly all its parts. William IV. had some share in 
the same work. Last and best, everybody knows that 
Queen Victoria and her royal Consort spent most of 
their days in this grand building, finishing its restora- 
tion at a full cost of four-and-a-half millions of dollars; 
and that both Albert and Victoria are entombed within 
sight of its towers. Is it any wonder that Edward 
VIT. will make it his permanent abode? Where is 
there a structure in all the world more closelv con- 



224 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

nected with sovereignty than this? Where a similar 
castle that has not been overthrown? 

Of all the incidents, romantic and real, connected 
with Windsor, there are at least three to appeal to the 
imagination and to the romancist's pen. The first 
is that relating to Edward III. and the Countess of 
Salisbury, who, when bravely defending the Castle 
against her enemies, welcomed the King, but proved 
constant when his unhallowed love would have made 
her his bride; an incident which has long been con- 
nected with the institution of the Order of the Garter. 
Froissart tells it so naively and so quaintly that it well 
bears reproduction: "As soon as the lady knew of 
the King's coming, she set open the gates, and came 
out so richly beseen that every man marvelled of her 
beauty, and could not cease to regard her nobleness 
with her great beauty, and the gracious words and 
countenance she made. When she came to the King, 
she kneeled down to the earth, thanked him of his 
succours, and so led him into the Castle, to make him 
cheer and honour as she that could right do it. Every 
man regarded her marvellously; the King himself 
could not withhold his regarding of her, for he thought 
that he never saw before so noble nor so fair a lady: 
he was stricken therewith to the heart, with a sparkle 
of fine love that endured long after; he thought no 
lady in the world to be loved as she. Thus they en- 
tered into the Castle hand-in-hand; the lady led him 
first into the hall, and after into the chamber, nobly 
apparelled. The King regarded so the lady that she 
was abashed. At last he went to a window to rest, 
and so fell in a great study. The lady went about to 
make cheer to the lords and knights that were there, 
and commanded to dress the hall for dinner. When 
she had all devised and commanded, then she came to 



HENLEY RACES AND WINDSOR 225 

the King with a merry cheer, who was then in a great 
study, and she said, ' Dear Sir, why do ye study so for? 
Your grace not displeased, it appertaineth not to you 
so to do; rather ye should make good cheer and be 
joyful, seeing ye have chased away your enemies, who 
durst not abide you : let other men study for the rem- 
nant.' Then the King said, ' Ah, dear lady, know for 
truth that since I entered into the Castle there is a 
study come into my mind, so that I cannot choose but 
to muse, nor I cannot tell what shall fall thereof: put 
it out of my heart I cannot.' ' Ah, sir,' quoth the lady, 
' ye ought always to make good cheer to comfort 
therewith your people. God hath aided you so in your 
business, and hath given you so great graces, that ye 
be the most doubted [feared] and honoured prince 
in all Christendom; and if the King of Sc.ots have 
done you any despite or damage, ye may well amend 
it when it shall please you, as ye have divers times 
[ere] this. Sir, leave your musing, and come into the 
hall, if it please you; your dinner is all ready.' ' Ah, 
fair lady,' quoth the King, ' other things lieth at my 
heart that ye know not of: but surely the sweet be- 
having, the perfect wisdom, the good grace, noble- 
ness, and excellent beauty that I see in you, hath so 
surprised my heart, that I cannot but love you, and 
without your love I am but dead.' Then the lady 
said, 'Ah! right noble prince, for God's sake mock 
nor tempt me not. I cannot believe that it is true that 
ye say, or that so noble a prince as ye be would think 
to dishonour me, and my lord my husband, who is so 
valiant a knight, and hath done your grace so good 
service, and as yet lieth in prison for your quarrel. 
Certainly, sir, ye should in this case have a small 
praise, and nothing the better thereby. . . . Then 
the King went into the hall and washed, and sat down 



226 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIB ENGLAND 

among his lords and lady also. The King ate little; 
he sat still musing, and, as he durst, he cast his eyes 
upon the lady. Of his sadness his knights had mar- 
vel, for he was not accustomed so to he; some thought 
it was because the Scots were escaped from him. All 
that day the King tarried there, and wist not what to 
do: sometime he imagined that truth and honour de- 
fended him to set his heart in such a case, to dishonour 
such a lady and such a knight as her husband was, 
who had always well and truly served him; on the 
other part, love so constrained him that the power 
thereof surmounted honour and truth. Thus the King 
debated to himself all that day and all that night: in 
the morning he arose, and dislodged all his host, and 
drew after the Scots to chase them out of his realm. 
Then he took leave of the lady, saying, ' My dear lady, 
to God I commend you till I return again, requiring 
you to advise you otherwise than ye have said to me.' 
' Noble prince,' quoth the lady, ' God the Father, glo- 
rious be your conduct, and put you out of all villain 
thoughts. Sir, I am, and ever shall be, ready to do 
you pure service to your honour and to mine.' There- 
with the King departed all abashed." It is one tradi- 
tion that Edward found the Countess of Salisbury's 
garter, picked it up, saw the smile of his companions 
and exclaimed: " Honi soit qui mal y pense," and then 
declared that this sentiment should be the sign of 
English chivalry. The motto of the Garter still is: 
" Evil be to him who evil thinks." 

The next incident is that of the poet-king of Scot- 
land, James I., who, when in his tenth year, while on 
his way to study in France, was captured and im- 
prisoned by King Henry IV. in the " Devil's " Tower 
and remained a prisoner there for eighteen long and 
weary years. He saw walking in the moated garden 



HENIiEY RACES AND WINDSOR 227 

and at once loved Jane Beaufort, daughter of the I Hike 
of Somerset, and his poem to her is among the famous 
productions of royal pens. The Tower, he says, looked 
over " a garden faire," in which was — 

" Ane herbere green, with wandis long and small 
Railed about, and so with treis set 
Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet, 
That life was none, walkyng there forbye, 
That might within scarce any wighl espye. 

" And on the smalle greene iw is is^at 
The little sweete nightingale, and sung 
So loud and clear the hymnis consecrate 
Of lovis u^e, now soft, now loud among, 
That all the gardens and the wallis rung 
Right of their song. 

" And therewith cast I down mine eye again, 
Whereas 1 saw walking under the tower, 
Full secretly new comyn her to pleyne, 
The fairest and the frest younge (lower 
That ever I saw (me thought) before that hour; 
For which sudden abate anon astert 
The blood of all my body to my heart." 

And he thus described Lady Jane: 

"In her was youth, beauty with humble port, 
Bounty, richess, and womanly feature, 
God better wote than my pen can report; 
Wisdom, largesse, estate and cunning lure, 
In every poynt so guided her mesure 
In word, in deed, in shape, in countenance, 
That nature might no more her child advance." 

Fate decreed that he should marry Lady Jane and it 
is said " they lived long in mutual love and sincere 
affection," but at last he died in that bloody tragedy at 
Perth, Scotland, where the assassin's dagger ended a 
sad but remarkable Scottish reign. The Scotch ballad 
about the heroism of one, who had her arm broken 
in an attempt to give the king time in which to save 
his life, is one of the lyrics not born to die. I give the 



228 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

first and last of the verses, to call them up to the mem- 
ory of my readers: 

" If all were good as are the few, 
The world were richer, rarer; 
A lady true and brave I knew, 

Of noble name the bearer; 
\. ere men all brave, and women true, 
The world would be the fairer. 

" But she who through rough staple placed 

Her arm so fair and tender, 
Hell's memories has half effaced! 

Their prayers should all men render 
For Catherine Douglass, brave and chaste, 

That Go^- His peace may send her." 

It ought to be added that the legends of early 
times made Windsor the place where King Arthur 
instituted his Order of the Knights of the Round Ta- 
ble, but if the fact of the institution of the Order by 
him could be proven, still it is probably a fable 
that he ever made Windsor one of his residences. 
Nevertheless, King Edward III. constructed a Round 
Table here when he established the Order of the Gar- 
ter, and for it fifty-two oaks were taken from the 
woods of the Prior of Merton, near Reading, for 
which there was paid the goodly sum (for those days) 
of £26, 13s, 4d. 

Naturally the first thing to do at Windsor is to 
climb the Round Tower. Then, on application for 
cards at the Lord Chamberlain's office, which are giv- 
en free to applicants, there is admission to the state 
apartments. If the sovereign is in residence, admis- 
sion is not given. If absent, it is, on certain days. 
These state apartments were formerly the private 
apartments of the sovereign, and the private quarters 
now were then the residence of relatives and depen- 
dants. In wandering through the state rooms, there- 



BENLEY RACES AND WINDSOR 229 

fore, one may readily picture in those large and com- 
modious parlors the red-haired, vixen-visaged, imperi- 
ous, cozening, intellectual Elizabeth and her courtiers, 
Raleigh and Drake,] toward and Cecil, and her gallant 
Earl of Leicester; and even that later queer specimen 
of tyrannical power, the bigoted spendthrift, but vir- 
tuous woman, Queen Anne, who in one of the little 
chambers received that dispatch of Marlborough, 
which carried with it such ecstatic joy in all of Eng- 
land, that "Your Majesty's troops have had a great 
victory and Marshal Tallard is in my coach." Frince 
Rupert, fiery, daring, brilliant, who was once consta- 
ble of the Round Tower, was a familiar habitue of 
these rooms. 

And Shakespeare — why we know that he saw 
more of court at Windsor than he did of it anywhere 
else. Would not his masterful dramas, indeed, almost 
indicate that his whole life had been spent at royal 
courts? And yet it was not. So the last incident I 
will relate concerns Elizabeth and Shakespeare. The 
Marquis of Lome tells with good grace of their rela- 
tions: " Here we may think of her as telling Shakes- 
peare, summoned to her presence, that she wanted a 
new play carrying on the description of the character 
of Falstaff, and again, only a fortnight later, the poet 
asking for an audience and announcing that he had 
the play ready for Her Grace's approval. Pym says 
that the Queen was very fond of having plays acted, 
and spent great sums on having them ' well mounted.' 
There was a stage erected, probably in St. George's 
Hall, on which there was frequent acting. ' For the 
actors a wardrobe was established, and for the stage 
scenes were painted. The Queen had also an orches- 
tra, composed of trumpeters, luterers, harpers, singers, 
rebecks, vialls, sagbutts, bagpipes, mvnstrels, dome- 



230 BRIGHT DAYS JX MERRiB ENGLAND 

flads, flutes. The charges for three plays performed 
before Her Majesty show payments of the officers, 
taylors and painters for making scenes of divers cities 
and towns, and the Emperor's palace and other de- 
vices, as well as money paid to carvers, mercers for 
sarsnet and other stuff, and lynendrapers for canvas to 
cover the towns withal, and other provision for a Play; 
and for a maske a rock for the nine Muses to sing on, 
with a vayne of sarsnet drawn up and down upon 
them.- There were charettes for the goddesses, and 
devices of the Heaven and clouds.' So that more was 
done at Windsor to support by scenery the plays of 
Shakespeare than at the ( Ilobe Theatre he had in Lon- 
don, and he was doubtless able to direct here the ar- 
tisans to provide whatever he called for. From that 
north terrace he must have retired from the Queen's 
presence, with quick step and eager eyes, through 
the lower ward to the ' (iarter Inn ' to perfect his 
schemes; and then with what a company he must 
have gone to see the preparations in the hall, planning 
evervthing, ordering everything, and occasionally tak- 
ing advantage of a talk with Bacon to get hints how 
to enact on the stage the great affairs of state, which 
often give the spur to the actions of his characters." 

On this spot one may think of the ill-fated Czar, 
Alexander II., of Russia, who was lodged in the state 
apartments during his last visit to England, his Cos- 
sack guards keeping watch in an adjoining room. 

A minute description of what is shown in these state 
quarters it is not within my purpose to give. It con- 
sists mainly of paintings and gifts from foreign po- 
tentates and princes. While the rooms are extensive, 
well-adorned and give one a fair idea of a palace (only 
fair, because the carpets or rugs are usually removed 
and the furniture covered with linen when visitors are 



HENLEY RACES AND WINDSOR 



231 



admitted), yet they are in no wise comparable with the 
Winter Palace at St. Petersburg, or King William 
II. 's Palace at Berlin, or with many another sov- 
ereign's home in other portions of Europe. About 
seventeen rooms in all are usually shown. They in- 
clude the Audience Chamber, Presence Chamber, 




{)//t-<-// 1 ictoria. 



* irand Chamber, St. George's Hall, Grand Reception 
Room, Throne Room, State Drawing Room, etc. 
There are admirable illustrations of tapestry, a few 
fine ceilings, charming portraits by Van Dyke, Lely, 
Kneller and Wilkie, and fairly executed pictures by 
Rubens, Guido Reni, Rembrandt, Teniers, Poussin, 
etc. Van Dyke's well-known "Charles I. and Fam- 



222 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

ily," and " Children of Charles I." are here, and his 
other works are excellent, as they always are. To my 
mind the best things are the views from the windows 
— of Eton and the meadows and forests — and the col- 
lection of gifts to Queen Victoria on the occasion of 
her Jubilee. The armory is not, however, without 
some precious objects, among them an Italian artist's 
masterpiece, the shield fashioned by Cellini for Francis 
I. of France and presented by him to Henry VIII. on 
the " Field of the Cloth of Gold," and the armor of King 
David II. of Scotland, taken from him on that woeful 
day in 1346 when 20,000 English bows brought him to 
submission and he was taken to Windsor Tower, a 
prisoner. 

I have spoken of the terrace. There are now gar- 
dens of some extent on the opposite side of the Castle, 
in sight of the present royal apartments, but while 
rather impressive in a picture, they are somewhat stiff 
in the reality. The Great Park beyond them is much 
more dignified and graceful. The Royal private apart- 
ments are plainer than many a rich man's home in 
Britain, and the inner court they partially surround is 
as bare as a desert. 

It was a sad rather than a happy sight to see the 
aged Queen come out from these apartments to the 
court, enter a carriage with one of her granddaughters 
and go off on her usual afternoon drive to Frogmore. 
A little, bent, old lady, dressed in mourning, she was 
the picture of decrepitude and of weariness. Life as an 
occupant of the world's greatest throne had been be- 
gun by her so early, and its sorrows had touched her 
at so many points, that she seemed more ready to 
journey to another world than to remain in this. I 
peered at the spectacle over the iron fence separating 
the court quadrangle from where I stood, and rejoiced 



HENLEY RACES AND WINDSOR 235 

that as a woman she had been one of the best who 
ever wore the crown. 

The Royal Mews we did not see. The Albert 
Chapel and St. George's constitute the balance of the 
sights within the Castle walls, and these are rich, no- 
ble and interesting. St. George's Chapel is, in fact,, 
more impressive and more worthy of an hour's study 
than many other more pretentious churches in Eng- 
land. For one reason, it is historically of intense in- 
terest. If the places where kings, queens and princes 
walk to the marriage altar have any fascination, this 
should be supreme in that relation. If the houses of 
God wherein these same human personages worship 
Him. either in spirit and in truth, or perfunctorily, be- 
come sacred to their subjects, St. George's should be 
pre-eminently so. It is a fair memorial, not grand, 
but rich and full of dignified grace. When one con- 
siders that Chaucer built it, himself laboring with his 
masons and carvers, and residing at the time in Win- 
chester Tower hard by; that for five centuries its roof 
has rung with paeans of thanksgiving and praise over 
the victories and of dirges over the defeats of English 
armies; that would-be kings and queens and other 
members of their families have been baptised, and 
later married, at its altar: that funerals of state have 
been held there, including the gorgeous one of Henry 
VIII. and the very recent solemn one of Queen Vic- 
toria; that here have worshipped, behind that high 
Egyptian balcony, all the English rulers for half a 
millenium of years, while in the stalls below have sat, 
during that time, every illustrious statesman in the 
land, surely it becomes impossible to stand with un- 
covered head in such a place. Here one ought to 
catch the tremendous import of the onward march of 
civilization between the reigns of Henry I. and Ed- 



234 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

ward VII., and grasp something of the significance of 
what first an absolute and then a constitutional mon- 
archy means in the progress of the ages. 

Naturally, one asks, who is buried in this Chapel? 
Are not all the illustrious scions of royalty in West- 
minster Abbey? Generally speaking, they are. But 
Henry VIII. and Jane Seymour lie in this spot, and 
"his funeral, at least, was worthy of a romancer's pen. 
His body was brought to it in a stately chariot, with a 
•crown upon the head, and under it a cap of black satin 
set full of precious stones. In " robes of crimson vel- 
vet furred with miniver, powdered with ermine, the 
collar of the Garter with the Order of St. George 
about the neck, a crimson satin doublet embroidered 
with gold, and bracelets of gold about the wrists, and 
with a sceptre, crimson velvet shoes and diamond 
rings," this poor, dead monarch, detested both in 
life and death, yet " merry " above all others in 
his days of much-marrying and feasting, was 
brought to the church, the chariot drawn by 
eight horses and each ridden by a child. The 
hearse had thirteen pillars and weighed four thou- 
sand pounds. The day after the funeral the body was 
placed in the vault "with pomp and reverence." 
The funeral of Charles I. was not so magnificent; it 
was the very opposite, for here on a snowy day a few 
of his cavaliers bore his remains, and buried them 
quickly from the public eye, and for two centuries they 
were forgotten. Then, the vault being opened, some 
•one stole from it the severed pieces of the neck-bone 
and the lower jaw. Later they were recovered; the 
vault was again opened; the jaw, to which the beard 
still clung, and the bone were put in place; and now 
the whole of Charles, which is not dust, may, perhaps, 
rest there until the Resurrection. What a sermon 



1 1 i:\l.i: V RACES AM) WINDSOR 235 

upon human vanity! In case of cither Henry or 
Charles, no historian or mortal now lives who will say 
that the world was any better for their living in it! 
There are other interments, of course, and not a few. 
There is a great cellar, or vault, beneath the chapel, 
where the coffins are laid on shelves, but tins is not 
shown to the public. There lie knights, bishops, kings, 
Among the monuments or inscriptions to the dead 
.ire those to the son of Theodore, King of Abyssinia, 
who "was a stranger" and the Queen took him in, 
and who died at the youthful age of eighteen years; 
to Sir George- Manners; to the Bishop of Chiches- 
ter; to Richard Beauchamp; to the Bishop of Salis- 
bury; to the Earl of Lincoln; to Sir Henry Clinton; 
to the Duke of Kent (father of Victoria); and there 
standi in place the original tomb of King Kdward 
IV. and his Queen. Probably more persons will stop 
to examine, however, tin- monumental group in white 
marble erected to Princess Charlotte, daughter of 
George IV., in the corner of the chapel. It is a thing 
of rare attractiveness, an exquisite specimen of the 
sculptor's art, the effect of which is heightened by the 
subdued sunlight that falls upon it through orange and 
purple glass windows. She is buried elsewhere, in 
Albert Chapel, now a memorial to the Prince Con- 
S( >rt. 

Albert Chapel and the Louis fX . Chapel, the lat- 
ter in Paris, have always seemed to me as gorgeous 
specimens of the magnificent in adornment of small 
places of worship as the world has to show. ( )f course 
they do not compare in money value to the fabulously 
rich shrines of Moscow, but they are more to the aver- 
age taste. They are not over-gaudy, and yet are royal 
and splendid. It hardly seems possible that wicked 
old Cardinal Wolsev built such a fine structure as the 



236 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERR.IE ENGLAND 

Albert for his own mausoleum, nor that his marble 
sarcophagus should be now the same in which is 
buried, at St. Paul's, London, that famous admiral and 
warrior, Lord Nelson; but it is true that his energy 
and money did much to make the building what it is. 
Lord Bacon described it in his day as grander than 
Westminster Abbey. It was James II. who concluded 
to turn it into a Catholic church and the walls and ceil- 
ings were decorated by him. George III. finished 
its wonderful artwork, and put a vault below it, where 
his descendants, until Victoria, have been laid to rest: 
himself first, then George IV., William IV., Queen 
Charlotte, Queen Adelaide, and various dukes, princes 
and princesses of their line. Now, the chapel is par- 
ticularly a monument to Prince Albert, and it is, as 
such, one of the most impressive memorials in Chris- 
tendom, ranking next to that of Napoleon. With 
its vaulted roof of Venetian mosaics; its stained win- 
dows illustrative of the " Garden of Eden," " Garden 
of Gethsemane," " Garden of Joseph of Arimathea," 
the " Passion," and the " Garden of the Blessed;" 
other windows of heraldic bearings; inlaid wall pic- 
tures of engraved marbles; an alabaster canopy; a 
reredos of alabaster, and a floor of inlaid marbles, the 
whole is so effective as a work of art, so solemn as 
a place of silence and prayer, that it has a peculiarly 
devotional effect upon the soul. One is almost glad 
to get out again from it into the bright sun and under 
the open sky. 

It is unfortunate that the average seeker after 
strong first-impressions of notable buildings should, 
as a rule, alight from the railway train at Windsor 
station, pass along that high and unornamental wall 
of the Castle grounds, and then first come before, or 
rather beside, this grand royal structure of Windsor 



HENLEY RACES AND WINDSOR 237 

.amid a medley of walls, gates, pensioners' buildings 
and rooms of ecclesiastics, and at last enter into it with 
no fine and appetizing glimpse of the whole splendid 
exterior; no real and correct idea of this majestic 
seat of the power of the empire. I caught some of the 
vast earth and sky lines of this depository of pomp and 
grandeur from the coach, in nearing Windsor, as one 
may, indeed, from the railway train if he is on the 
lookout for it, but it pays to go on all sides of the 
meadows and fields round about the Castle, and sur- 
vey it from all points; to look at it by morning sun- 
light end by evening moonlight. Gradually, but cer- 
tainly, one must then come to confess that what is 
disappointing when near is glorious when far off. 
That writer is not so much astray who began one of 
the numerous handbooks on this palatial monument 
t>y saying: "There is no palace of Kings so truly 
regal, so strikingly beautiful in its situation, so lofty 
and majestic, with its irregular but picturesque out- 
line, as Windsor Castle." The situation is magnifi- 
cent, but one must be away from Windsor to appre- 
ciate it. 

All in all, Windsor and Windsor Forest will never 
die, if the verses in their praise by Surrey, by Pope 
and by that rarer master of flute-like song, Shelley, 
continue to be read by future generations. I do not 
know how the forest compares now with its more 
opulent days, but surely in Shelley's time it was a 
fairy wood, just as he described it, where — 

" Like restless serpents clothed 
In rainbow and in fire, the parasites, 
Starred with ten thousand blossoms, flow around 
The gray trunks; and as gamesome infants' eyes, 
With gentle meanings, and most innocent wiles, 
Fold their beams round the hearts of those that love, 
These twine their tendrils with the wedded boughs, 



238 



BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 



Uniting their close union; the woven leaves 

Make network of the dark blue light of day, 

And the night's noontide clearness mutable, 

As shapes in the weiru clouds. Soft mossy bowers 

Beneath these canopies extend their swells, 

Fragrant with perfumed herbs the darkest glen 

Sends from its woods of musk rose twined with jasmine 

A soul-dissolving odour to invite 

To some more lovely mystery." 





Bushy Park, Hampton < 'our/ . 



XV.— RUNNYMEDE AND HAMPTON COURT. 

THE FEUDAL days are gone. Scarcely their 
relics remain. Their deathblow was when Ed- 
ward 111. defeated Philip VI. at Cressy in [346. 
And the early grandeur of monarchial displays in 
English-speaking countries will never come again. 
That met its fate when Cromwell's Parliament took 
off the head of Charles J. Beyond these two epochs 
stands Runnymede. That spot marked a beacon-light 
in the troubled waters of English history. The year 
will never be forgotten — 121 5. Almost seven centu- 
ries have come and gone since, but Magna Charta, 
guaranteeing as inalienable the right of trial by a jury 
of one's peers, and condemnation only by the law of 
the land; confirming the liberties of the church; pro- 
hibiting unlawful punishments; giving to men the 
right of absolute ownership in private property; requir- 
ing uniformity of weights and measures, and affirming 
municipal liberties, is, to-day, as bright as the sun and 
as fair as the moon. It is as much the panoply of hu- 
man rights in America as in England, and it has been 



240 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

enacted into law in many a state and country where 
strange flags float and curious languages are em- 
ployed. Its creation as a part of England's funda- 
mental existence was the precursor of liberty for all 
successive ages. " I must see Runnymede," was said, 
and so we left Windsor with the Stars and Stripes 
-ready to unfold as we drew in sight of it, and of Mag- 
na Charta island. We passed through a portion of 
the Great Park, and crossed the Long Walk, 
with its double avenue of stately elms, planted in 1680, 
and then turned off to the south directly toward 
Staines. It is only three or four miles from Windsor 
to the Island, which is in the Thames, and has a pretty 
cottage upon it, but no other sign of life. The public 
road is some distance off, so that I could merely see 
the island. It is a little below, on the opposite side of 
the river, where is the meadow known as Runnymede. 
Here the Barons were assembled when the famous 
conclave transacted its business with King John. 
Now it is the spot of the Egham race course. When 
I saw it not a human being was in sight; the country 
generally in this region is flat and devoid of interest, 
except in the way of history. But what a page of his- 
tory it fills! There is said to exist a large stone un- 
der the Island cottage on which Magna Charta was ac- 
tually signed; if so it is a pity it is not exposed to pub- 
lic view, where anyone might stand upon it as upon 
Plymouth Rock. 

A little further on, eight miles from Windsor, is 
Staines, an extremely ancient town, with its " Lon- 
don Stone," marking the extent of the former juris- 
diction of the city of London over the Thames, and 
bearing this inscription upon its moulding: " God 
preserve the city of London, A. D. 1280." This fixes 
its age as of the reign of Edward I. From this stone 



RUNXYMK1H-: AM) HAMPTON COURT 241 




242 



IMJIUHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



the name Staines is derived. It is a plain town of 
about five thousand people. From Staines to Hamp- 
ton is eight miles, and the only interesting spectacle 
upon the road is the London Water Works. Perhaps 
most people who are familiar with Hampton Court 
Palace will remember the fine approach to it from 
Bushy Park, which, however, on this occasion we 
did not take. It is worth a long drive out of the way 
to see its one thousand acres, with its mile-long" 




The Coaches Leaving Staines. 

horse-chestnut avenue, quite equal to any other for- 
est in any part of the country. Hampton Court Park 
contains nearly six hundred acres, so that the two 
combined make sixteen hundred acres — almost three 
square miles — and constitute a favorite resort for 
" pensioners," who use it every summer day. The 
maze, which is quite near the Palace, and the grape- 
vine, with a stem nearly a foot in diameter, planted 
in 1769, bearing yearly an immense quantity of black 



RUNNYMEDE AND HAMPTON COURT 243 

Hamburg grapes (once twenty-two hundred bunches) 
attract constant attention from visitors. The French 
garden before the Palace, laid out by William III., 
with brilliant flower-beds, smooth lawns and charming 
trees, both native and foreign, is so restful that in it 
one may soon forget maze, grapevine, palace pictures 
and everything else. A seat in thai garden under an 
umbrageous oak on a warm, sunshiny day, comes as 
near being happiness as our ran now arrive at in this 
old luxurious spot of the time of Henry VIII. and his 
favorite Cardinal. If Wolsey had praised it less and 
had hired some eminent physicians of his day — sup- 
posing so wicked a thing were possible — to certify to 
the unhealthfulness of the locality, he might have 
passed moie of his days there in undisturbed repose. 
But he got the advice of the best doctors in London 
to the effect that there was no healthier spot within 
twenty miles of the city, and constructed a building 
so palatial without and (for that time) so splendid 
within, that his merry master was unwilling to have 
Wolsey in a better residence than his own. Every one 
knows the story, how the gift came to be made to the 
King, and thenceforth it and Wolsey's " two hundred 
and eighty beds furnished with all manner of furni- 
ture," became Henry VIII.'s favorite home. It is 
ugly enough now within, but imposing without. 

I wandered through its state rooms and found 
them, as on previous and on successive visits, given 
over wholly to a few decayed bedsteads and a large 
collection of a thousand portraits and other paintings, 
few of first-class importance except from a historical 
point of view, in which latter sense they are almost 
unrivalled 'by any other gallery in England. In other 
parts of the palace the pensioners — " poor relations," 
as often called — of the Queen were in possession, but 



-'44 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



they were scarcely visible, and the air of the whole 
place was of a public spot for the people to come, do 
as they please, and go away. It is said there were 
fifteen hundred rooms in Wolsey's day; if so, every 
closet, chimney-place and window-pane must have 
been counted. Still it is a big, long, low, brick build- 




Entering Hampton Court Palace. 



ing. with three courts, and as Wolsey had eight hun- 
dred attendants, the outside appearance may be de- 
ceptive. Historically it is important, for here, after 
Wolsey, Henry VIII. lived and Jane Seymour died, 
and was thence removed to Windsor. Here Henry 
married his sixth wife, Catherine Parr. On this spot 



RUNNYMEDE AND HAMPTON COURT 245 

Edward VI. was born and ofttimes resided. Here 
Philip and Mary lived after their marriage in 1557. 
Mere James I. held the conference between the Bish- 
ops and the Presbyterians, which resulted in the sub- 
sequent translation at Oxford of what is known as 
King James's Bible. Here Charles 1. resided during 
his honeymoon, and also when the plague drove him 
from London, and he often played tennis in the tennis 
court on the north side of the Palace, doing it even 
upon the day before he made his escape to the tsle of 
Wight. Here Oliver Cromwell lived and caught the 
ague from which he died, after, however, he had seen 
.the marriage ceremonies of his daughter, Elizabeth, 
and witnessed in the same house the death of his fa- 
vorite daughter, Mrs. Claypoole. Here, more pathetic 
still, Elizabeth held a council by which she condemned 
to death the Queen of Scots. The Commissioners of 
Trial had been holding a two days' session at Forth- 
eringay, October 14 and 15, 1586, when suddenly 
Elizabeth determined to adjourn the judgment ex- 
pected to be rendered to her Privy Council, which 
seems to have been held at Hampton, where the 
Queen then resided. On October 25, the Commis- 
sioners of Trial found Mary guilty and condemned 
her to the executioner's block. An unlawful, inhu- 
man proceeding, because not a fair trial with accusers 
to face her; possibly best in the end for England, but 
certainly a crime against Mary and against law, and 
a stain on Elizabeth, which the rains of three hundred 
years have not washed away. 

Our return to Windsor was by the same road on 
which we had traveled to Hampton Court, and was, 
therefore, somewhat fatiguing. Still the thirty-two 
miles of travel and long walks for this day found us at 
night not overtired, but eager to enjoy one of those 



24O 



HKKillT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



good meals at the " White Hart," for which it is fa- 
mous, even if during the day the American coachman 




■■■ 



.1WP''JIB 



" Those Blarsted 'Orses/" 



was obliged to say repeatedly to Mr. Franklin: 
cawn't manage well, to-day, those blarsted 'orses!" 




William Penn. 



XVI.— STOKE POGIS AND THE GRAVE OF 
WILLIAM PENN. 

Ol'R COACHES went down the hill from 
Windsor to the Thames, and then, on crossing 
it. Eton was there, contiguous. The morning 
air was fair, the breath of the sunkissed winds from 
the west pure. Even the horses appeared to be in 
unusual spirits that morning, as if they, with us. sniffed 
from afar the regaling zephers from Stoke Pogis and 
from Chalfont St. Giles. It was to be a great day for 
coaching and for pleasure. I cannot recall in all my 
touring hours a brighter or more invigorating atmos- 
phere than that of this day. And yet not a single hour 
of the five days set aside to this particular part of Eng- 
land was other than clear and brisk, in sky and on 
earth, with the brief exception of the clouds and storm 
which were in the far heavens when we left Oxford. 
Tt used to be said, is yet by -some travelers, that Eng- 
land never has a whole week in summer without rain. 
Put T have seen the grass so parched and yellow that 
it was a sorrowful spectacle; so dead, indeed, that I 
never saw and hope never to see its equal in the 



248 BRIGHT DAYS IN MEKRIE ENGLAND 

States. Whole weeks do pass without rain, and I have 
even experienced days of almost unbearable heat as 
well as drought. At the time of this coaching tour 
it was extremely dry and dusty about Hampton Court 
and the vicinity of London. Not so at Oxford, and 
not so in Buckinghamshire. 

We did not pause at Eton as time was pressing. 
The famous College is but a short distance from the 
Thames, perhaps a quarter-mile, there being a meadow 
between it and the river. At a distance its general ap- 
pearance is that of another Hampton Court Palace. It 
is built of red brick with stone dressings, and has a 
variety of short towers and steeples. For over four 
centuries it has been one of the most renowned of 
English schools. There are annually nearly a thou- 
sand boys taught within its walls, some seventy of 
whom, wearing the traditional black gowns of earlier' 
days and living in the college building, are students 
on the original foundation. All other boys live in the 
residence of the " masters " and are usually selected 
from the wealthy homes of the lords and dukes and 
other titled gentlemen of the nation. They wear silk 
hats and cost their fathers "from £200 a year up;" 
probably " up." 

Less than two miles from Eton is Slough^a town of 
five thousand people, once home of Sir William Her- 
schel, where he and his sister Catherine, who was al- 
most as good if not as great an astronomer as her 
brother, watched the stars nightly together so many 
years. Sir John Herschel, Sir William's son, was born 
at Slough in 1792, nine years after his father's re- 
moval to that place, but most of his lifework, I believe, 
was performed at other places than at Slough, and 
with improved instruments. Catherine, upon her 
brother's death, returned to the place of her and of his 



STOKE POGIS AND PENN'S GRAM: 249 

nativity in Germany. Sir William constructed at 
Slough, largely with his own hands, that great reflec- 
tor, forty feet in length and four feet in diameter, 
which has usually been considered the most wonderful 
proof of his perseverance and his genius, and it is still 
preserved as a relic. But while this was a mammoth in- 
strument and gave him much fame, his calculations 
of the sizes of the celestial spheres, the relations of 
constellations to constellations, and his discoveries in 
all branches of astronomical attainment, proved his 
mind to be the real source of his masterly acquisitions. 
Slough will be forever memorable as the place where 
for a period of at least forty years the science of as- 
tronomy leaped forward by strides and bounds. All 
three of the Herschels were as great prophets in their 
guesses of discoveries still in the future as any of 
those inspired men of the prophetic ages. Now the 
locality would be too smoky for good observations, 
but then London was not an inferno of engines and 
other consumers of soft coal. Besides, Slough was 
close to Windsor, and the royal patron of Sir William, 
George III., wished the astronomer to be as near 
to the palace as he could get, in order to acquaint 
His Majesty quickly of what was going on in the 
heavens. George was not such a pious man, but per- 
haps he was not quite sure that the astronomer might 
not foresee and presage the Day of Judgment. 

It is a level road on to Stoke Pogis, which is 
only a brief two miles; that is to say, but four miles 
from Windsor. This I mention because transient 
visitors for the day to Windsor could not put in two 
or three hours toward sundown, after visiting that 
Castle, with more intellectual profit and charm than to 
drive by Eton and Slough to the scene of " The Elegy 
in a Country Churchyard." But first comes Stoke 



250 BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

Park, where Sir Edward Coke entertained Queen 
Elizabeth in iooi so sumptuously that, to celebrate 
the entertainment, he presented her with jewels worth 
about £1,200. The old manor house is not now in 
existence, but the grounds are still extensive and pret- 
ty. When one reflects that, after the Virgin Queen, 
Charles I. resided in it as a prisoner; that its plucky 
owner refused to receive into it William III., although 
this " foreign King " was at the village hard by and 
simply signified his desire to inspect the old manor 
house; and that the present mansion owes its con- 
struction to an actual descendant of William Penn, 
it will be seen there was basis for our taking special 
interest in Stoke Park. 

While I was musing upon its palatial lands, we in- 
advertently passed the point where we should have 
paused, and crossed the fields, to visit Stoke Pogis 
church. There was neither inscription nor sign to 
indicate that a plain stile must be surmounted, and 
that one must then go on foot nearly a quarter-mile 
across the green sward before reaching the long-famed 
spot. And so it happened that, after progressing a 
full half-mile beyond the proper gateway — a mere 
turnstile — inquiry was made of a passerby, the coaches 
were stopped, we dismounted and betook our way 
back for the looked-for entrance. Naturally there 
should have been grumbling for the long walk taken — 
almost two long " Virginia miles " in the whole — 
but there was too much good American sense for that. 
It was our first experience for the year in crossing an 
open English field. The grass was trim, and, except 
for a severe drought, would have been verdant. The 
surrounding beeches, oaks and limes were green, 
stately and solemn; there were overhanging clouds 
and, in the distance, the mutterings of a storm. 



STOKE POGIS AMI PENN'S GRAVE 251 



~ 


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tt . * 








tRti 


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k^ - 


At*. < 9 


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252 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

The walk brought us to a great square monument 
placed out in the open field by Gray's admirers; not 
a very appropriate place, so far as I could observe. It 
is said to be a classic, and perhaps it is a fitting, monu- 
ment, with a grove as a background and with the 
Stoke Pogis church in proximity, but it did not seem 
to me there was much in the monument that was ap- 
propriate. I presume it was selected because it com- 
mands a good view of the church and graveyard, but 
it seemed to be a stranger in a strange locality. It 
has plenty of quotations from the " Elegy " and other 
poems; the poet's name alone would have been more 
in keeping with his humility. We turned instinctively 
from stone to something more living — to the old yew 
tree in the churchyard hard by, under which we have 
been told Gray finished, if he did not there begin, that 
beautiful " Elegy." Here is sacred ground. The church 
is just such an one as you expect to find in England, 
away from the homes and haunts of men. Built of 
flint pebbles, with three low gable fronts, with long 
and narrow Gothic windows, with red-tiled roof and 
with the tower heavily draped in ivy, there are sur- 
rounding it tall trees, while a brick wall separates it 
from the so-called park in which stands the monu- 
ment. 

We entered the church, the door of which was un- 
locked, and later there came a woman to point out to 
us its historic pews, and to take our coin. There was 
the pew in which the Gray family had worshipped; 
another in which various members of the Penn family 
had listened to tedious sermons before the days when 
they proposed to hear those only which came spon- 
taneously from the lips of men who had been moved' 
by the Spirit. But all these failed to attract us as much 



STOKE POGIS AND PENN'S GRAVE 253 

as the humble churchyard without, and we returned 
to the yew-tree and to Gray's own tomb: 

" Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 
Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre." 

Dorothy Gray, the poet's mother, passed away 
nearly forty years before the son, and here, out-of- 
doors, beneath sun and shower, was the tomb which 
he himself erected and on which he placed that in- 
scription which has been ever since the subject of 
so much praise and criticism: " In the same pious 
confidence, beside her friend and sister, here sleep the 
remains of Dorothy Gray, widow, the careful and ten- 
der mother of many children, one of whom alone had 
the misfortune to survive her." The death of his 
mother took place in 1753. Eleven years before, when, 
in the churchyard near (at Burnham), Gray attended 
the funeral of his uncle, Jonathan Rogers, the impres- 
sion was formed which nursed into song the " Elegy." 
One would suppose that so short a poem (of only 128 
lines) could be written in a few days, certainly in a week 
at most, but we have it on good authority that this 
41 Elegy " was begun at Stoke Pogis in 1742, con- 
tinued at Cambridge after the funeral of a dear aunt 
of Mr. Gray, and finished at Stoke Pogis in 1750. 
Its simplicity is its beauty and its pathos will live in 
the minds of men for ages to come. Our own Daniel 
Webster thought no other poem so good. How much 
or how little he wrote under this yew tree I do not 
know, but there it stands, dense of foliage, with birds 
twittering in its branches, and with nothing in its vi- 
cinity to disturb the calm stillness of the scene, except 
as travelers on a week-day wend their way to church, 



254 BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

or the country folk on Sunday gather to hear ex- 
plained the Word of God. 

Gray was, probably, at the time of his death, the 
most learned man in Europe. He was shy; he was 
sensitive; but he had the true poetic feeling. Many 
times he left the great, smoky city of London, then the 
headquarters of literary folk, and went down to Stoke, 
to visit three good ladies, whose peaceful lives were 
deeply interwoven with his own. He went, he says, 
to find everything resounding with the " woodlark 
and the robin and the voice of the sparrow." He went 
to visit his mother's grave. He went to finish the 
poem which has made him famous, at the place where 
he was born. He went to catch the inspiration of one 
gentle song in sweet, pensive mood, which was never 
after equalled until the days of Wordsworth. Glori- 
ous, charmed, bewitching spot, we left it only because 
we must. I am sure I turned away from it with the 
fascinatingly sad lines that the author of " Shakes- 
peare's England " has put into imperishable prose 
upon my lips: 

" Night is coming on and the picture will soon be 
dark ; but never while memory lasts can it fade out of 
the heart. What a blessing would be ours, if only 
we could hold forever that exaltation of the spirit, 
that sweet, resigned serenity, that pure freedom from 
all the passions of nature and all the cares of life, 
which come upon us in such a place as this! Alas, 
and again alas. Even with the thought this golden 
mood begins to melt away; even with the thought 
comes our dismissal from its influence. Nor will it 
avail us anything now to linger at the shrine. For- 
tunate is he, though in bereavement and regret, who 
parts from beauty while yet her kiss is warm upon 
his lips, — waiting not for the last farewell word, hear- 



STOKE POGIS AND PENN'S GRAVE 255 

ing not the last notes of the music, seeing not the last 
gleams of sunset as the light dies from the sky. It 
was a sad parting, but the memory of the place can 
never now be despoiled of its loveliness. As I write 
these words I stand again in the cool and dusky si- 
lence of the poet's church, with its air of stately age 
and its fragrance of cleanliness, while the light of the 
western sun, broken into rays of gold and ruby, 
streams through the painted windows, and softly falls 
upon the quaint little galleries and decorous pews; 
and, looking forth through the low, arched door, I 
see the dark and melancholy houghs of the dreaming 
yew-tree, and, nearer, a shadow of rippling leaves 
in the clear sunshine of the churchway path. And all 
the time a quiet voice is whispering, in the chambers 
of thought: 

'' No farther seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 
(There they alike in trembling hope repose), 
The bosom of his Father and his God.' " 

We drove on over the hard road, under the harm- 
less crack of the whip, to a place whose name gave the 
title to the Earl of Beaconsfield, and whose noble 
church covers the remains of a greater than this noble- 
man of the Primrose, for that proficient master of the 
clearest English style and consummate orator, Sir Ed- 
mund Burke, sleeps at peaceful Beaconsfield. Bea- 
consfield is a town for the existence of which there 
seems to be no reason. It has no manufacturies, no 
men of wealth, no landscape views, no other single 
thing of consequence, excepting the magnificent stone 
church and the surrounding churchyard. The people 
are plain, practical, everyday workbodies. chiefly sub- 
sisting by reason of fine agricultural surroundings. 
As its leading and most kindly citizen, a Mr. Hedges, 



256 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

expressed himself, " We are here, for we hardly know 
how to get away." But that church is an enduring 
structure, and a worthy pile to surmount so illustrious 
a grave. The sexton was not in sight, but Mr. 
Hedges, spying us out as strangers, offered to conduct 
us to and within its walls; and he pointed out to us, 
on the floor, the smooth bronze cover on which were 
in plain letters these three words, " Sir Edmund 
Burke." Just outside of the rear wall was a curious 
marble tomb, under which was buried Thomas Wal- 
ler; so that Beaconsfield was the home of Waller and 
•of Burke, and gave beside title to the most illustrious 
Hebrew of modern times, who honored his nation by 
his own nobility. 

To me the most interesting character of the three 
men was Burke. In a sense he was not a great man, 
but he was the foremost orator of England and he 
lived here as approachable to all mankind as a country 
squire. We passed by the edge of the Burke estate 
just before reaching the village. Here the orator had 
entertained his compeer, Charles James Fox. Here 
he had received as a guest the illustrious Mirabeau. 
Here he had given parties to which had been invited 
some of the most famous men of the kingdom. Here 
he had reckoned without his host in figuring an enor- 
mous income to be obtained by farming, and to re- 
plete his most astonishing expenditures. And here, 
when he was tired, even though he could not earn half 
the money he needed, he could give food to beggars, 
medicine to the sick, talk weather and turnips with his 
farming neighbors, and walk under the shade of stately 
trees in the evening stillness, while " reflecting on the 
state of Europe and the disturbances of his country." 
Burke's estate had been the seat of Waller, whose 
house, or part of it, made his farm house, and Burke 



bTOKE POGIS AND PENN'S CRANK 257 

had paid originally over $100,000 for those acres. 
While it never furnished him so much as his bread, 
he probably never repented the bargain, as he re- 
ported it in 1708 to his friend Shackleton: " 1 have 
purchased a house with an estate of six hundred acres 
of land in Buckinghamshire, twenty-four miles from 
London. It is a place exceedingly pleasant; and I 
propose, God willing, to become a farmer in good 
earnest." 

Now we sped on to Jordans Burying Ground, 
where rest until the resurrection the remains of Wil- 
liam Penn, of his two wives, and of five of his family. 
It is in an obscure spot. The stranger, without dili- 
gent inquiry, would never find it. Was it hid away 
where the worshippers might escape persecution? Was 
it placed beside the wood upon a by-road, so that the 
old Puritans could never find the adherents of new 
heresies? At all events, here is the plain brick meet- 
ing-house, and the little graveyard by its side, and 
not a man. woman, or child, nor a living creature in 
view. If worshipped in still, strangers, if not the 
worshippers must hunt for the place and will find it 
with an effort. As to the building, the doors were 
locked, the windows fastened, and there was no admit- 
tance to the sacred precincts. Each grave of the 
Penns was marked, but the stones were not placed 
there at the time of the burial. The prejudice of the 
Friends against gravestones has not yet worn away, 
and it is said that even to-day there is an occasional 
proposition before the Society that they shall be re- 
moved entirely, as not in keeping with the opinions 
of that religious organization. Some effort has also 
been made by the State of Pennsylvania to remove 
the actual bones, if they exist, of William Penn to 
Philadelphia. Happily this has not been successful. 



258 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



Penn was buried there in 1674, two hundred and twen- 
ty-seven years ago, and all that can remain in the 
earth which could be taken to Philadelphia is prob- 
ably that which one finds in the grass and the flowers 
above the mound. 

The meeting-house is in the valley, near the foot 
of a very steep hill, with the woods 01 Wilton Park 
rising up to view on surrounding acclivities. There 




William Penn' 



is some likelihood that the house was originally, or 
later, an inn, because in deeds after 1709 it was called 
' The Three Compasses," but it was most likely a pri- 
vate house when the poet occupied it. This house, 
too, like the body of Penn, was thought of as a good 
thing to be taken bodily to America about fifteen years 
ago, when some enthusiastic Yankee wished to pur- 
chase it for that purpose. In looking up the history 
of the Quaker leader of great events in Pennsylvania, 



STOKE POGIS AND PENN'S GKAVE 259 

I find that he was born and his early life was spent 
largely in London, but when he married he settled at 
Rickmansworth, Hertford, only five or six miles to the 
northeast of Jordans, and it must have been then, 
when he was twenty-eight years old, a young man, 
just free from imprisonment in London, that he be- 
gan to worship in this neighborhood. Jordans was a 
spot where no intruding enemies to his quiet religious 
customs would come, and where he could meet with 
his brethren in peace and lay plans for the propaga- 
tion of his faith, the release of George Fox — which 
he accomplished — and establishment of an asylum 
in America. At Rickmansworth he wrote con- 
troversial pamphlets and in public contested argu- 
ments with Richard Baxter. Penn, by purchase with- 
in the next four years, became one of the five owners 
of West Jersey, and later, in 1677, removed to Sus- 
sexshire. In 1681 he received the grant for Pennsyl- 
vania, and next year set sail for America, founded 
Philadelphia, put his colonial affairs in shape, returned 
to England in 1684, resided in London, where he lived 
thirteen years, removed to Bristol in 1697, and in 
1699 was back in Pennsylvania, remaining there again 
for two years. After several changes of residence, he 
finally removed to and died near Twyford in 1718, and 
was buried at Jordans beside the graves of those 
whom he had most loved. He was a truly great man 
in so many ways that America can never be sufficiently 
grateful to him for his wise and noble sen-ices in the 
founding of one of its greatest commonwealths. 




"Sweeter Than Any Other Ducks That Grow. 



XVII.— CHALFONT ST. GILES AND AYLESBURY. 

WE ARE now in the heart of real Bucking- 
hamshire, and only a few miles from Chal- 
font St. Giles. Chalfont St. Giles! Strange, 
rather bewitching name it is; a straggling hamlet, 
with neither natural nor artificial beauty, but forever 
memorable as containing the cottage, now owned by 
the nation, which was the home of the poet Milton 
during the particular years when he finished " Para- 
dise Lost " and commenced " Paradise Regained." I 
do not know that there is anything much historical 
connected with the village of Chalfont except this 
temporary habitation of Milton. But there is an old 
stone house near by, where Oliver Cromwell was en- 
tertained after the battle of Aylesbury. There is also 
an estate owned by the Fleetwoods, an early family 
of distinction, one of whom was commander-in-chief 
of all the forces raised in England, Scotland and Ire- 
land during the Cromwellian period, and another of 
whom died in America, having fled from the wrath 
of Charles II. for having signed the death warrant of 
Charles I. One of Chalfont's fair daughters married 
Bishop Hare, " one of the two greatest critics there 
ever were in the world." Thomas Ellwood, friend of 
Milton, who rented the cottage for the poet and soon 



CHALFOXT ST. GILES AND AYLESBURY 26] 

after was imprisoned at Aylesbury as a sentenced regi- 
cide, lived probably only a mile or two away. Perhaps 
this is honor enough for one locality. But I sin mid 
certainly never have cared for this particular detour 
from the direct road from Beaconsfield to Amersham, 
except for the memory of the grand old blind poet. 

.Milton was not a great man in the Cromwellian 
cabinet. He was merely Latin secretary to ( )ld Iron- 
sides, and possessed of no wonderful political sagacity, 
nor real political influence, though he wrote much 
ponderous prose as a pamphleteer. He did not count 
as most other great men counted during the trying 
times of the Commonwealth. But in after years, when 
he dwelt apart from the hubbub of statecraft, he 
touched the world's heart and held it spellbound for all 
future time. He was a poet so matchless in his dic- 
tion concerning Heaven; so majestic in his concep- 
tions of the deep things and mighty which are in the 
Scriptures; so transcendently above others of his day 
in the learning which soars above the reach of the mere 
scholar, that one cannot enter his humble home at 
Chalfont and not bare the head as in a sacred place. 

I like to read Ellwood's own account of how he took 
from Milton's hands the completed " Paradise Lost," 
" bidding me/' says he, " take it home with me and 
read it at my leisure and, when I was done, return it 
to him, with my judgment thereupon." Then it was 
that the Quaker made his famous speech : " Thou hast 
said much here of Paradise lost, but what hast thou 
to say of Paradise found?" — to which casual question 
was due the writing of " Paradise Regained." Says 
Ellwood, in his quaint way. in describing the matter: 
" After the sickness was over, and the city well 
cleansed and become safely habitable again, he re- 
turned thither. And when 1 afterwards went to wait 



262 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



on him there, which I seldom failed of doing when- 
ever my occasions drew me to London, he showed 
me his second poem, called ' Paradise Regained,' and 
in a pleasant tone said to me, ' This is owing to you, 




Home of John Milton, Chalfont St. Giles. 

for you put it into my head by the question you put 
to me at Chalfont, which before I had not thought 
of.' " 

A two-story cottage, with tile roof, a large outside 



CHALFONT ST. GILES AND AYLESBURY 263 

chimney and a small porch, and roses clambering all 
over the side, located just against the main street as 
you go into Chalfont, on a down grade; this is about 
all one can say in describing the externals of this 
quaint little home. The ceilings are low, and we 
found in it, as usual, a lady in charge, thoroughly 
versed in the history of Milton as connected with the 
place. It seems that while the Great Plague was rag- 
ing in London, Milton, living near Bunhill Fields and 
finding it necessary to flee from the city, asked Thom- 
as Ellwood to secure him a place of safety. The year 
was 1665. Milton came on accompanied by his 
wife and his daughter Deborah. His other two 
daughters had deserted him, and were obtaining their 
own livelihood. Milton brought with him the manu- 
script of " Paradise Lost," which he had begun twenty 
years before, and which he was now to finish and pre- 
sent to the world for the paltry sum of £10. But that 
trite sum was enough, when it is considered that with 
it came a reputation which shall last While the world 
stands. 

One can picture Milton seated in the little parlor 
within when the weather is unpleasant, and on a bench 
outside the cottage when the days are balmy — such is 
the description of him by his contemporaries — some- 
times listening to the birds and inhaling the scent of 
roses which he cannot see, but usually with his wife 
or daughter reading to him aloud. Here the ink must 
first have dried on those concluding lines which so 
many of us have read as we have shut to the matchless 
irk: 

" The world was all before them, where to choose 
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide. 
They, hand in hand, with solitary steps and slow 
From Eden took their wandering way." 



264 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIB ENGLAND 

llr rose at four in summer and five in winter; had 
first read to him a chapter of the Hebrew Bible, then 
meditated until breakfast time; then dictated to his 
wife or daughter until noon; dined at mid-day. Xow 
he drew off one poetic spell only to put on another, 
for his soul went out for hours into music, playing on 
the organ or listening to the voices of others, until 
three or four o'clock. He again resumed work in the 
late afternoon until six, received visitors until eight, at 
which hour was his evening tea; smoked his pipe, 
drank his glass of water (he was always a temperate 
man) and went to bed. Such was the life of Milton 
in his cottage, as related by his friends; simple, touch- 
ing, eloquent. The house contains some of his 
books, pictures of him at different ages, and a few oth- 
er relics of the manners of the time. The man is gone : 
the spirit of him remains. 

It is a three-miles ride to Amersham, and there 
we stopped to rest the horses and have our mid-day 
meal. The place is thoroughly and peculiarly Eng- 
lish, though we missed in it the yards of roses and the 
ivy, and the country-look, which are in most English 
towns. And now for a long stretch over the hill-road 
to Aylesbury, nearly fifteen miles away! A high wind 
was blowing in our faces and it became cold, so that 
our wraps were scarcely warm enough. We did not 
pause at Missenden to look at its Abbey, nor elsewhere 
on the road, except to find at one little inn near Wend- 
over a most attractive collection of old china. Just 
at nightfall we reached the county seat of Bucking- 
hamshire, and descended from our coaches at " The 
George " hotel at Aylesbury. 

Should an Englishman be asked if he has heard of 
Aylesbury, he is sure to answer, " Yes." If pressed 
further as to what he has heard of it, his one answer 



CHALFONT ST. GILES AND AYLESBURY 265 

is sure to be in a monosyllable — " Ducks." For the 
ducks of Aylesbury arc famous the island over, and 
they arc supposed to be just a little larger and fatter 
and >wcctcr than any other ducks that grow. And we 
found them so. At all events, " The George " hotel will 
ever be associated in my mind with the most tooth- 
some ducks that I ever came across, lint there was 
ni< ire to eat than ducks and plenty of it. ( )n the whole 
1 had as comfortable, as odd and as curious a time 
at Aylesbury as I could imagine possible in ( ireat 
Britain. The hotel was certainly of King Charles I.'s 
day and perhaps succeeded one of Henry VIII. 's, or 
earlier. Within, it was of the most old-fashioned and 
oddest type. The stairways, the hall, the bar, the 
banqueting hall and the bed-rooms were all of the days 
of " auld lang syne," and of these the banqueting hall 
in which we dined was the most quaint. It was the 
centre room, a sort of inner citadel, large and octag- 
onal, and around it was a hall making the whole cir- 
cuit. It was said that this was originally a secret 
meeting-place, which was erected by the Duke of 
Buckingham for private gatherings of himself and 
friends. Certainly it was wholly unrelated, except by 
this corridor around it, with anything but the sky 
above. As I recall it, there were some sky windows, 
but never had been side ones, and there was only one 
door of exit. The ceiling was unusually high, and the 
curious, old oaken beams, and portraits of members 
of the Buckingham family, engaged our attention 
when we sat down to supper, even more than the 
steaming ducks. The Buckingham referred to was 
originally plain George Villiers. He became, when 
very young, private secretary to King James. 1 le had 
so much animal spirits, and. by his mother's training, 
was so much of a courtier, that the King took a fancy 



266 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

to him, made him a peer, then an earl and then a 
marquis. When he was twenty-five he was Earl of 
Buckingham, and within two years after he was reck- 
oned to be, with one exception, the richest nobleman 
•of England. With position and wealth came power. 
He was Lord High Admiral at twenty-seven, and 
when thirty-two he was practically the ruler of Great 
Britain. He was impeached, but Charles I., who had 
"begun to reign, refused to relinquish him, and he 
died at thirty-six by the knife of the assassin. He died 
lamented by few and execrated by many. Aylesbury 
gave him shelter and his money gave the place a hotel, 
but history never enshrined a more consummate 
scoundrel, unless it was his son, the second Duke of 
Buckingham, who was the most profligate and fickle 
of his name, and yet who had sufficient influence to 
secure a burial in Westminster Abbey. 

But let us return to those ducks. They were 
cooked to perfection and the quantity was as great as 
the quality was good. We ate and ate ducks. Other 
things were good, but the ducks better. We told stor- 
ies and pondered what jests and merrymakings 
accompanied the feastings in this hall in the " merry 
days " of 1620, or thereabouts, but, spite of such way- 
wardness, the ducks would come in upon huge plat- 
ters, roasted and basted to perfection. It spoiled us 
all, for elsewhere we have not eaten a good duck 
since. Of course we inquired about them in this fash- 
ion: Wherefore ducks at Aylesbury? Why here 
rather than at Oxford, or at Beaconsfield? The only 
answer I could get was that from time immemorial 
■ — presumably from the days when Yilliers owned land 
in quantity at Aylesbury and knew how fine ducks 
served up would keep King James in good humor 
with him — the progenitors of the present ducks regu- 



CHALFONT ST. GILES AND AYLESBURY 267 

larlv went to feed the royal palates at London, Wind- 
sor and Hampton Court. They became then the na- 
tional bird, and they continued to be such for royal 
stomachs ever after. To-day the London market is not 
complete without the morning arrival of Aylesbury 
■ducks, and one can almost be sure that the richest 




Street and Maikel View. Aylesbury. 



Rothschild built his magnificent palace within six 
miles of Aylesbury in order to be certain that his table 
would be supplied with the same nutritious food! 
Anyhow, there is his mansion, and if we could secure 
correct biographies of Burke and Gray, of Merschel 
and even Cowper, not to speak of the elder and also 
junior Disraeli, the notorious John Wilkes, and ever 



268 



m:i<;irr days in merrie England 



so many earls and dukes who have resided in Buck- 
inghamshire, we should probably read that the fa- 
mous mutton-chops of Hants and Kent had not half 
the attractions for them that sweet, sleek, fat, juicy, 
dark-meat ducks had, and hence their permanent 
abode within ten or fifteen miles of Aylesbury. Even 
the landlord's red-cheeked daughters, as bright as new- 
ly-coined sixpences and as hospitable as their grand- 
mothers were famed to be, had grown pretty and cor- 
pulent on these never-to-be-omitted ducks, and we 
said goodbye to them and their comfortable house 
next morning with many expressions of sincere regret. 
There was a market fair, the usual weekly one, in 
progress and I saw sheep and hogs and other animals 
innumerable in the public market-place in the street 
in front of the " George," but the fresh morning air 
had greater attractions for us all, and we soon 
mounted coaches, when breakfast was past, and dashed 
down the main street to take the southwesterly road 
toward Oxford. 





Street 1 isw in I harm 



XVIII.— JOHN HAMPDEN AND MILTON'S WED 
DING. 

AS THIS was to be our last coaching day for the 
season, we welcomed the bright sun again and 
a crisp morning air. Leaving Aylesbury we 
could soon see far off to the left, white in the sunlight, 
that magnificent country seat of Alfred Charles 
de Rothschild, known as Halton House. Ahead of 
us was Dinton, the curious old village in which we 
saw the whipping-post and stocks, disused a century 
ago. Then came Thame, the home and place of death 
of that noble fellow-patriot and comrade of Cromwell, 
John Hampden. Of course we stopped at Thame to 
see Hampden's house, and to enjoy a cup of tea from 
the hands of the English barmaid, in the little room 
where the men of the town meet in the long winter 
evenings to drink their stout, and talk of the Liberal 
and Conservative parties. John Hampden, by the 
way, is too illustrious a soldier and Parliamentarian 
of Cromwellian days to pass by without some notice. 



270 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

When the Duke of Buckingham was swaggering" 
about the kingdom as its lord, Hampden was in Parlia- 
ment getting ready to fight all the principles for which 
his equal-aged fellow-shireman stood. Buckingham 
was born in 1592, Hampden in 1594, so there were 
but two years difference in ages between them. Each 
was the owner, by inheritance, of a good estate; each 
had a fine education from the best colleges in the land. 
But the one was unprincipled, and was a trained cour- 
tier from his youth ; the other was of the stuff of which 
heroes are made. The grammar school at Thame, like 
that at Stratford in Shakespeare's time, was one of the 
best of its kind, and here the boy John was prepared 
for Magdalen College. He went to Parliament in 
1621, when he was twenty-six, and for over twenty 
years was regularly returned in order that he might 
become and continue to be the bulwark of that Eng- 
lish Revolution, which, begun with him, was to turn 
and overturn until the national life should be perme- 
ated with new forces, that, a century or two later, 
were to produce the best form of monarchy that the 
world has yet seen. Macaulay drew his whole por- 
trait in one paragraph : " The sobriety, the self-com- 
mand, the perfect soundness of judgment, the perfect 
rectitude of intention — of these the history of revolu- 
tions furnishes no parallel, or furnishes a parallel in 
Washington alone." He did not believe in monarchy, 
but without him and his cousin, Oliver Cromwell, 
English monarchy might yet be a despotism. Modest, 
free of pretence, his character was as strong as gran- 
ite. At Thame he not only proved himself a worthy 
student, but resisted the ship-money, and showed to 
the world in his letters, when Parliament was not in 
session, how true a patriot he was in life; and he was 
a martvr in his death. He died for his country: 



JOHN HAMPDEN AND MILTON 271 

he died at Thame, where he was proud to live in the 
quiet of happier early memories. When he left for the 
skies the world's roll of great men had a new and 
bright star added to it. 

It was a ten-mile drive over an uneven country 
from Aylesbury to Thame and about thirteen more to 
Oxford. Two-thirds of the way on the last-named 
road, about four miles east of Oxford, is a hill known 
as Forest Hill. There is nothing about it except a 
fine view in every direction that would attract a casual 
traveler. But Forest Hill has a history, and, if not 
verging upon romance, it is clearly not many removes 
from historical charm, because here John Milton 
found his first bride and took her to reside with him 
in London. There is a fine, modern house on the 
spot now, but the old is gone. The ancient manor was 
upon the same site, and the view to-day must be much 
as it was in 1643, when the singularly quiet courtship 
occurred and the prize was won. Milton, it will be re- 
membered, was born in 1608; so he was a bachelor of 
thirty-five when he did this wooing on Forest Hill. 
This was the neighborhood of his ancestors. They 
had resided near Thame. His grandfather had been 
an under-ranger of the forest within five miles of Ox- 
ford. Milton himself was born in London and edu- 
cated at Cambridge; then he resided with his father, 
now retired, at Horton, very close to Windsor (three 
miles to the east of it) and spent five quiet years in 
communing with his books and with nature in this 
pleasant portion of Buckinghamshire. He there wrote 
" L' Allegro," " II Penseroso " and " Lycidas," the last 
his best poetical work, until he produced the one epic 
of his life, long years after; the most immortal heroic 
verse of all uninspired poets. Following this he took 
his year-and-a-quarter journey to Italy, where he con- 



BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIB ENGLAND 

versed with Galileo and saw "the leaves of Yallam- 
brosa," and on his return took lodgings in London, 
and began to teach " the sons of gentlemen " the 
Greek and Latin, of which he was already master. 
Then it was," says his nephew, " that about Whitsun- 
tide he took a journey into the country, nobody about 
him certainly knowing the reason or that it was more 
than a journey of recreation. After a month's stay, he 
returned a married man, who set out a bachelor; his 
wife being Mary, the eldest daughter of Mr. Richard 
Powell, then a Justice of the Peace, of Forest Hill, 
near Shotover, in Oxfordshire." This little estate, 
worth then but ^300 a year, was the scene of that 
month's visit. Mr. Powell was its lessee, not its owner. 
Milton must have known this Mary from his boyhood 
days; in fact, the Milton and Powell families had been 
well acquainted. Mary's mother was a woman of 
wealth, so that in reality the young student and teach- 
er, who was poor, courted a lady who could not spend 
her income, for it is said she had £3000, which for that 
day was a large possession. It has always been be- 
lieved that Milton's love was blind; that he might 
better have remained away from Forest Hill, for his 
wife was the daughter of a Cavalier and his sympa- 
thies were soon to be thrown with the Roundheads 
in the approaching Revolution. He went, perhaps, 
only for a visit: he met Mary there; he loved her on 
sight; she. became his bride. It was done so quickly 
that his friends were astonished, and they were also 
grieved, for she was but seventeen and the " match " 
was, therefore, not considered suitable. 

The marriage took place in May or June. They 
went to London on their honeymoon. In July she re- 
turned to Forest Hill, and all his persuasions by letter 
and by messenger failed to get her back again for a 



JOHN HAMPDEN AND MILTON 273 

period of two years, by which time he had published 
his " Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce " and was 
just arranging for another marriage, when Mary re- 




lolui Milton. 

appeared, and, says his biographer, this is what hap- 
pened: "A conspiracy of the friends of both parties 
contrived to introduce Mary Powell into a house 
where Milton often visited in St. Martin's-le-Grand. 
18 



274 BRIGHT DAYS IN MEKRIE ENGLAND 

She was secreted in an adjoining room, on an occasion 
when Milton was known to be coming, and he was 
surprised by seeing her suddenly brought in, throw 
herself on her knees and ask to be forgiven. The poor 
young thing, now two years older and wiser, but still 
only nineteen, pleaded, truly or falsely, that her moth- 
er ' had been all along the chief promoter of her fro- 
wardness.' Milton, with a ' noble leonine clemency,' 
which became him, cared not for excuses of the past. 
It was enough that she came back and was willing 
to live with him as his wife. He received her at once, 
and not only her, but on the surrender of Oxford 
[to Fairfax] in June, 1646, and the sequestration 
of Forest Hill, he took in the whole family of the 
Powells, including the mother-in-law.'* Had he not 
this scene in mind when he wrote in " Paradise Lost:" 

" Eve, with tears that ceas'd not flowing 
And tresses all disorder'd, at his feet 
Fell humble, and embracing him, besought 
His peace." 

She died after being Milton's wife for nine years, at 
the early age of twenty-six, and when her fourth child 
was born. 

Forest Hill left upon me an impression of sadness 
rather than of delight. The old mansion was gone, 
there was an air of newness instead of antiquity about 
the place, and I am sure it was for Milton the begin- 
ning of sorrows rather than of joys. Looking at him 
as related to this spot is to look at an ardent lover all 
too soon to be bowed in grief, and his beautiful " II 
Penseroso " well expresses it: 

" To behold the wand'ring moon, 
Riding near her highest noon, 
Like one that had been led astray, 



JOHN HAMPDEN AND MILTON 275 

Through the heaven's wide, pathless way, 
And oft, as if ner uead she bow'd, 
Stooping through a fleecy cloud." 

But Milton was never at so low a point as when he 
mismated his genius with one who could not compre- 
hend him. Years after, when he had a better and 
truer mate, he soared at his best, and only then could 
Wordsworth have justly said of him: 

" Thy soul was like a star and dwelt apart; 
Thou had st a voice whose sound was like the sea; 
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, 
So didst thou travel on life's common way, 
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart 
The lowliest duties on herself did lay." 

Xowhere else did Buckinghamshire seem more 
like the rural, prosperous counties of the best portions 
of America than here between Thame and Oxford. 
Our coterie on the coaches commented on the scen- 
ery and sang low the home-songs, which seemed 
fitting to our mode of travel, written by poets whose 
sense of feeling was, we hoped, like our own. We 
pulled up before the " King's Arms " hotel, in Oxford, 
at half-past two in the afternoon, just five days from 
the time when we had driven out from the same cor- 
ner of the street, in a southerly direction for Reading. 
A well-spread luncheon was ready for us, and we were 
again ready to depart from the scene of " jolly jour- 
neyings " for the great London metropolis, with Mr. 
Franklin waving to us his lasting goodbye. I can 
see him yet, at the station, waving his farewell, his face 
radiant with satisfaction at the pleasant messages we 
left with him, and hopeful, expectant, that another 
year might see us all at Oxford again upon his coach- 
es. Alas for his and our hopes! In a few short 



2/6 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



months the daisies were blooming above a new-made 
grave in one of the parish churchyards, and all the 




A Wayside Inn in Buckinghamshii 



jubilations of all the merry coaching parties of the 
whole of England could not have awakened him from 
his peaceful sleep. 




Romeo and Juliet. 



XIX.— IN WARWICKSHIRE AGAIN. 



ANOTHER YEAR and new ground, in part, 
once more. We came to Oxford from Holland 
direct, only pausing at London for a breakfast. 
At the old centre for coaching, Mr. Franklin's elder 
son met us. He was not his father. Still, he loved us 
for his father's sake, and we reciprocated the attach- 
ment, and for five days old friends and new were to 
be again one happy coaching family. The day was 
perfect; cool, clear, invigorating; never a better one 
for a good start. This time we drove to the northwest. 
On the front box was the elder son, a mourning band 
on his arm. On the next box, the younger son. Two 
coaches sufficed. 

We spun over the road to Woodstock in less than 
an hour's time — eight miles — and, happily, found the 
mansion of the Duke of Marlborough not closed to 
visitors this time. We reined up pretty close to the 
side entrance and waited a quarter-hour for the time 
when the good-natured custodian would, for a shilling 



2 7 8 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MEREIE ENGLAND 



each, allow an entrance. An English party of lady 
schoolteachers, who were tidy in dress hut not espe- 
cially intelligent in appearance, were ahead of us. Too 
quickly, and yet perhaps with an allowance of reason- 
ahle time, we were conducted through Blenheim. 
There was little shown of real interest, as compared, 




Visiting "Blenheim" Again, 



for example, with Warwick. It was an humbler home 
and with no such ancient history behind it. The archi- 
tect of the palace, Vanbrugh, was a man generally 
laughed at in his day for ponderous and awkward con- 
structions; hence the satirical epitaph: 

" Lie heavy on him, earth, for he 
Laid manv a heavy load on thee." 



IX WARWICKSHIRE A.GAIN 279 

But Sir Joshua Reynolds approved him. I wondered 
how it was possible for the old Duke to use up on the 
building alone — but probably he did not — the sum of 
£500.000 which the Parliament of England voted him 




V/ir Present I uke oj .1 arlti n ugh. 



for the purpose of erecting this structure. The two 
things which impressed me most were the portraits 
of famous English people for the past two centuries, 
many by Reynolds, and the Duke's fine library. But 



2 8o BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

if I had a half day to linger here I should prefer to be 
out somewhere on the twelve-mile-in-circumference 
Park, and as far away as possible from that Corinthian 
column of one hundred and thirty feet high, of the 
great Duke, and its long laudatory inscription by 
Lord Bolingbroke, where I could call up to mind the 
pomp and splendor of the earlier scenes of the locality, 
when right merry monarchs looked upon the ground 
of Woodstock as their earthly paradise. 

It is a hilly and not specially attractive road from 
Woodstock to Chipping Norton, which lies twelve 
miles to the northwest. My object was to reach Cov- 
entry by a new and roundabout way and the road 
we enjoyed, though the day was less exhilarating than 
any that came after. At Chipping Norton we left our 
coaches, as it was not an attractive place for a night, 
and took train to Worcester, returning next morning. 

Worcester has a cathedral which should not be 
missed. In some respects it has remarkable beauties; 
beauties of arches and roof all its own, which will 
perpetuate their features in memory long afterward. 

The day's drive from Chipping Norton to Stratford 
was far superior to that of the day before. The roads 
were better, the views more extensive, the individual 
and peculiar English scenes greater in number. There 
were constantly the Malvern Hills in the distance, and 
in the clear atmosphere of the day, though it was in 
July, the constant panorama of estates and farming 
lands, forests and fields, with views often extending 
to twenty miles in each direction, was a superb one. 
never to be forgotten. When we passed in the middle 
of the afternoon, " the handsomest lodge in England," 
we were loath to hurry by it. No one told us of any 
such thing, but we spied it, found it, photographed it. 
Unhappily the picture reproduced in the illustration 



IX WARWICKSHIKK AGAIN 



281 



does not adequately represent it. The whole back- 
ground of trees, the intense green of the ivy covering 
the lodge, the accompanying flowers and the dainti- 
ness of it all cannot appear in any picture. It was 
a small bit of a cottage, as exquisite in its setting 
as a humming 1 bird's nest in a bower of roses. Ah? 




"'/'/it Handsomest Lodge in England." 

the bower of roses; that is just what was there, in- 
termingling witli the ampelopsis and the trailing- 
vines. It is to be hoped there was love in the cottage 
to match its exterior graces. The only person we saw 
there, however, was an old lady, who made no objec- 
tion to an inspection of the premises, nor to our tak- 
ing away handbills of the pink and yellow roses. 



282 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



Stratford-on-Avon, which we reached by evening, 
(having lunched at the " George " at Shipston-on-Stow 
— and a right royal lunch it was), was just as new 
and just as antiquated as ever in its central features, 
and just as charming by moonlight. We boated on 
the Avon, interviewed anew the interesting parlor and 
hostess of the " Red Horse," and went to rest a tired 
lot of merrv riders. Mrs. Mary Anderson de Navarro 




Red Horse Hotel, Stratford-on-Avon. 



had been at the hotel at the noon-hour to lunch. " She 
often comes to Stratford," said Mrs. Colbourne, " and 
always lunches with us." Of course her picture, with 
that of many noted artists, was in the parlor and, 
happily, not yet stolen by some American thief. Any- 
thing stolen from an English 100m is presumably tak- 
en by a strolling American. We were shown a frame 
without a photograph; the photograph had been in 
place on the wall a few weeks before and contained the 



IN WARWICKSHIRE AGAIN 



2S3 



autograph of the lady who had presented it to the 
hotel. It was taken away " by a traveler from the 
States, no doubt." Among the other photographs in 
this room, which 1 noticed on a more recent visit, were 
those of Irving. William Winter. Ellen Terry. Edwin 
Booth, Julius Brutus Booth, Edmund ECean, Modjes- 
ka, Joseph Jefferson, Ada Rehan, and there were aut< 
graph letters of Irving. Longfehow and others. 




Parlor {Washington Irving 



One of the " sights " of Stratford, which had he- 
came of growing interest since my previous visit, was 
the pretty house with balconies of Mowers, of Corelli, 
whose "Life" has jnst been issued, though she has 
disapproved of it in the public press as '" a piece of im- 
pertinence." It is on the same street as " New Place " 
and not far from it. Miss Minnie Mackay — which is 
the real name of Marie Corelli — was the adopted 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERKIE ENGLAND 



daughter of Charles Mackay, and is supposed to be of 
Scotch parentage on her father's side and Italian on- 
her mother's. Her " Romance of Two Worlds," pub- 
lished in 1886, brought her into fame and gave her the 
friendship of Gladstone and Tennyson. She has re- 
sided in two places in Stratford, that where she now 
lives being called "Avon Grange." She dreads public- 




Marie Corelli's Residence, Stratford-on-Avon. 

itv, but her splendid literary work has conferred ad- 
ditional honor upon this already world-famous town. 

The question often recurs to visitors to Stratford 
and to others, " What is the true likeness of Shakes- 
peare?" It may never be satisfactorily answered, but 
the illustration given, being of what is known as the 
" Black Bust," probably furnishes as correct an an- 
swer as any. This "Black Bust " is copied from a ter- 



IN WARWICKSHIRE AGAIN 



28; 



ra-cotta representation of Shakespeare (the history of 
it is uncertain), in the possession of the Garrick 
Club of London. It may not be as pleasing as some 




The "Black Bust" of Shakespeare. 



others, but I suspect it shows him exactly as he looked 
in his later years. 

Referring to what was previously said about Strat- 
ford-on-Avon, I find I barely mentioned the Memorial 



286 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

Theatre, which consists of the theatre, library and art 
gallery combined. The site was presented and the 
building erected by public subscription. Lord Leigh, 
who was Lord Lieutenant of the county of Warwick, 
laid the foundation stone in 1877 with full Masonic 
ceremony, and two years later, (both events having 
occurred on the poet's birthday, April 23), the theatre 
was opened by the comedy " Much Ado About Noth- 
ing," when Lady Martin (Miss Helen Faucit) made 
her last appearance on the stage in the character of 
Beatrice. In this theatre Miss Mary Anderson made 
her debut as Rosalind in 1885. There are some rare 
works of art on Shakespearian subjects in the picture 
gallery, and the attempt to gather together all known 
editions of the poet's writings, and works associated 
with his name and history, has already made the 
library unique in its way, and likely to become in time 
the best memorial of Shakespeare in the world. From 
the central tower of the Memorial buildings, there are 
views of Stratford unsurpassable. In the ground ad- 
jacent is the Shakespeare monument, unveiled 1888; 
the gift of Lord Ronald Gower, who himself modelled 
the figures of the group of statuary. 

It must not be said that poets and women alone 
go to Stratford and have dreams at night of the won- 
derful personages and scenes which appear in Shakes- 
peare's plays. I had with me a physician, who was 
supposed to be practical and not given to musings, and 
this is what appeared in his notes upon the occasion 
of his first night at the " Red Horse " hotel : 

" It is late. I extinguish my candle and from my 
window look out into the stillness of the night. The 
town has long since been fast asleep and all is peace. 
The firmament seems filled to overflowing with twink- 
ling stars and the spire of Holy Trinity reaches heav- 



IN WARWICKSHIRE AGAIN 287 

enward as if to touch them. All nature sleeps. From 
the belfry rings out the midnight hour. Then sud- 
denly the whole scene changes. A new world, with 
strange but still familiar faces, has been awakened. I 
rub my sleepy eyelids, and lo! I see Shakespeare's 
creations passing in solemn procession toward his 
tomb. Yes, there go Titus Andronicus and his poor 
tongueless daughter Lavinia; the two Dromios of 
Ephesus and Syracuse, trying to find out which is 
who; the faithful Valentine, with bright and clever 
Silvia, and faithless but forgiven Proteus, with tender 
and ardent Julia, to whom he is saying: 

' O, heaven! were man 
J!ut constant, he were perfect.' 

There are Lysander and Hermia, with Demetrius and 
Helena, released from their sad plight by mischievous 
little Puck, who remarks as he passes: 

' What fools these mortals be.' 

See! there comes the villainous King Richard III., 
haunted by his many victims, who surround him and 
taunt him with their words. There are Prince Ed- 
ward, son to Henry VI. ; Henry VI., himself; Rich- 
ard's brother George, Duke of Clarence; Earl Rivers; 
Lord Grey; Sir Thomas Vaughan; Lord Hastings; 
his little nephews, the two young princes, Edward and 
Richard, who say to him: 

' Dream on thy cousins smothered in the tower;' 

his wretched wife Lady Ann and his last victim the 
Duke of Buckingham. Now come ardent Romeo with 
his sweet Juliet; the romantic king of hectic feel- 
ings and brilliant words, King Richard II.; the treach- 
erous King John; and Hubert de Burgh, leading lit- 



288 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

tie Arthur, the king's nephew, by the hand and whis- 
pering to him: 

' Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes 
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes: 
Yet am I sworn and I did purpose, boy, 
Wit.i this same very iron to burn them out;' 

•crafty and relentless, but overreaching, Shylock, hold- 
ing his bloodless knife and scowling at fair and gen- 
erous Portia, looking handsome in her lawyer's gown; 
the formidable man of deeds, King Henry IV.; reck- 
less Prince Hal, in company with that gross-bodied 
and self-indulgent old sinner, Sir John Falstaff, car- 
rying his cup of sack and affording much amusement 
to the "Merry Wives of Windsor;" "the Mistress 
Ford and comely and pretty Anne Page; Petruchio, 
with Katharina the Shrew, now become an obedient 
wife, who says to her husband as they hurry by: " 

' What is your will, sir, that you send for me?' 

I see the would-be bachelor and maid, Benedict and 
Beatrice, arm in arm, and I hear Benedict say: 

' A miracle! here's our own hands 
Against our hearts. Come, I will have thee.' 

Here are fair and bewitching Rosalind in doublet and 
hose, with Orlando and the clever clown Touchstone; 
also the melancholic, sentimental and egotistical 
Jacques, expressing himself thus to the Duke: 

All the world's a stage, 
And all the men and women merely players: 
They have their exits and their entrances; 
And one man in his time plays many parts, 
His acts being seven ages.' 

They pass out of hearing with Jacques still moralizing'. 



IN WARWICKSHIRE AGAIN 289 

There are the roystering Sir Toby Belch, the vain and 
" yellow-legged stork " Malvolio, the refined ( )livia. 
and sweet and lovable Viola, to whom Orsino, the 
Duke, is saying: 

' Your master quits you; and for your service done him, 
So much against the mettle of your sex, 
So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, 
And since you called me master so long, 
Here is my hand: you shall from this time be 
Your master's mistress.' 

Hark, the bugle call! there come the great and am- 
bitious Julius Caesar, the daring and eloquent Marcus 
Ajitonius, the erring yel noble Brutus and impulsive 
Cassius. There goes tender and sensitive, but mad 
Ophelia, followed by reflecting and meditative Ham- 
let, attended by his faithful friend Horatio, to whom 
he says: 

' There's a divinity that shapes our ends. 
Rough-hew them how we will.' 

Next I see the sorely tempted Angelo; the pure and 
upright Isabella and her weak brother Claudio; the 
noble, trustful, but jealous and misguided Moor, 
Othello, with sweet and gracious Desdemona and the 

envious and wicked Iago; the bowed and white-haired 
King Lear, bereft of his reason, with his faithful and 
tender daughter, Cordelia; the morally weak and 
wicked Macbeth: and Lady Macbeth, still washing 
her hands and muttering as she approaches: 

'Out, damned spot! out, I say!' 

A blare of trumpets, and there, amidst a body of sol- 
diers, is the great but weak Roman soldier. Antony, 
with fascinating and magnificent Cleopatra, the cause 
of his ruin, decked in her royal robes, her crown upon 



290 



l'.RKillT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



her head and the deadly asp coiled around her shapely 
arm and upon her alabaster breast. Then aristocratic 
Coriolanus, with his loyal wife Virgilia and majestic 
mother Yolumnia; the rich and generous Lord Timon 
of Athens; sad Pericles, Prince of Tyre, reunited to 
his wife Thaisa and his daughter of the sea, Marina; 
Cymbeline, with his long- lost sons and charming 




The Shakespeare Memorial Theatre. 



daughter. Imogen; noble Prospero, with his sweet 
and lovely daughter Miranda, attended by the airy 
Spirit Ariel, singing as she passes: 

'Where the bee sucks, there suck I: 
In a cowslip's bell I lie; 
There I couch when owls do cry. 
On the bat's back I do fly 
After summer merrily. 



1\ WARWICKSHIRE AGAIN 291 

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now 

Under the blossoms that hang on the bough.' 

There go jealously mad Leontes, with his wronged 
but forgiving wife, noble Hermione, and his graceful, 
beautiful and lovable daughter Perdita, followed by 
the light-hearted and light-fingered rogue, Autolycus, 
humming to himself: 

' Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, 

And merrily bent the stile-a: 
A merry heart goes all the day, 
Your sad tires in a mile-a.' 

The shadows thicken and I can but indistinctly see 
cruel and self-indulgent King Henry VIII., the mag- 
nanimous, long-enduring sufferer, Queen Katharine, 
and ambitious Cardinal Wolsey, giving this advice to 
young Cromwell, his servant: 

' Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: 
By that sin fell the angels;' how can man, then, 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by it? 
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; 
Corruption wins not more than honesty.' " 

I am not quite sure how that wonderful dream 
ended, but whoever can see it at the " Red Horse " 
must, indeed, be an honest sleeper and a man after 
Shakespeare's own heart. 

Next day we were off for Warwick and this time 
by the slightly indirect route past Hampton Lucy in 
order to see Charlecote. This was the old family 
seat of the Lucy family, whose patience was so much 
tried, if the account of it be actual history, by the 
propensity of Shakespeare and his fellows, when the 
poet was young, to commit the offense of deer-steal- 
ing. The deer is said to have been taken from an 
adjoining estate, which, however, was under the Lucy 



292 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

family's control. Personally I am no believer in the 
verities of the story about Shakespeare's deer-stealing, 
although this is how it was first told by Rowe in 
1709, a century and a quarter after the alleged date of 
it. " An extravagance that he was guilty of, forced 
him both out of his country, and that way of liv- 
ing which he had taken up; and though it seemed 
at first to be a blemish upon his good manners, and a 
misfortune to him, yet it afterwards happily proved 
the occasion of exciting one of the greatest geniuses 
that ever was known in dramatic poetry. He had, by 
a misfortune common enough to young fellows, fallen 
into bad company, and, amongst them, some that 
made a frequent practice of deer-stealing, engaged 
him more than once in robbing a park that belonged 
to Sir Thomas Lucy, of Charlecote, near Stratford. 
For this he was prosecuted by that gentleman, as he 
thought, somewhat too severely; and, in order to 
revenge that ill-usage, he made a ballad upon him. 
And though this, probably the first essay of his 
poetry, be lost, yet it is said to have been so very bitter, 
that it redoubled the prosecution to that degree, that 
he was obliged to leave his business and. family in 
Warwickshire for some time, and shelter himself in 
London." The latest authority on the subject, Mr. 
Hamilton W. Mabie, says of it: " Facts have come to 
light in late years which seem to show that the deer- 
park at Charlecote was not in existence until a much 
later date." Thereafter, however, he says, " the evi- 
dence is neither direct nor conclusive, but, taken as a 
whole, it seems to confirm the poaching tradition." 
Charlecote Park is only three miles out from Strat- 
ford, a little north of east, and it looks venerable as to 
its elms and oaks, few of which would seem to be less 
than a century old, but it is not kept up like a modern 



IN WARWICKSHIRE ACAIN 



293 




294 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

wealthy landowner's estate. Deer are still to be seen 
stalking - about the place, not as wild animals, but af- 
fectionately mingling together as a herd and even 
intermixing with the sheep and cattle. A stately ave- 
nue of trees leads to the Elizabethan mansion, which 
is of brick and was built in the first year of Queen 
Bess's reign. There is nothing pretty about it except 
its general surroundings. In its day it was in the 
height of style, and its portals, with armorial bearings, 
must have admitted Shakespeare in his youth as well 
as those friends of " Justice Shallow," who, presuma- 
bly, did not practice deerstalking! Falstaff said of it: 

" You have a goodly dwelling and a rich," 

and Shallow replied: 

" Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars all, Sir John." 

Still, if Sir Thomas Lucy were a " beggar " in that he 
preyed on the public, I cannot feel so sure that the in- 
terior of the house was ever " barren." There must 
have been more or less of the comfortable there. To- 
day the antiques are gone and the furniture is not 
such as to create any wonderment in the beholder. 
Irving's " Sketch Book " gives an excellent account 
of this old mansion as it was ninety years ago. 

The little town of Hampton Lucy is a fair example 
of an uncared-for village, peopled wholly, perhaps, by 
the farm tenants of the estate, whose low brick 
houses make almost a continuous row along one small 
street, as if huddling together for protection from 
cold and from the attacks of imaginary tramps. No 
sidewalk is visible. But the church, which rarely 
forsakes even the smallest village, has a spire, and it 
gives character to the surroundings. Mr. Clifton 
Johnson, in his " Along French By-ways," describes 



1\ WARWICKSHIRE aGAIN 



295 



an average French village in Normandy " as charm-, 
ingle picturesque," and then names some of its stur- 
dier qualities: "The house- were set at haphazard, 
usually snug to the wheel tracks. If a yard intervened, 
it was pretty sure to be of hummocked and hard-trod- 
den earth, with straw and other litter lying about. The 
hens made the yard their scratching place; and the 




/tool Children, Who Lined L'p 



I lampion Lucy. 



pigs took to it for their wallowing ground. Hog pens 
and chicken roosts and stables were right by the door 
or even under the same root. The smells were any- 
thing but sweet; yet there was so much that was de- 
lightful to the eye in the surroundings of these human 
-sties that one was ready to forget the odors and the 
-filth." Happily, such a paragraph cannot be written of 



296 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

many places in England, though I confess the picture 
fairly tallies with some stray rows of cabins I have seen 
in the Green Isle. Hampton Lucy might look just 
this way if it were in Normandy, but, as it is in War- 
wickshire, it doesn't. It is at least clean, and the peo- 
ple have some pride about their front-door views. The 
school-children, who lined up in a row to watch our 
coaches, were well-dressed and neat. The parish 
church contains monuments to the Lucy family, which 
are worthy of the time required to see them. 

The nooning was at Warwick at the " Warwick 
Arms," which was more attractive in some respects 
than the " W'oolpack," but less so when it came to the 
payment of bills. We made the usual visit to Beau- 
champ Chapef and intended to do so at Warwick Cas- 
tle, but there was a gathering there of the premiers of 
the English colonies — Canada, Australia, New South 
Wales, etc. — who had come to London to show their 
attachment to the Queen, and who were invited by 
the Earl of Warwick to a garden party. We saw the 
nobility entering the grounds, watched by hundreds 
of the citizens of the place, who gathered round and 
lined the roadway. So we drove on, determined to 
see it the following day. 

Leamington looked fresh, handsome and wholly 
attractive as a quiet summer resort, when we passed 
through. We stopped to taste the mineral waters 
from one of the springs, and then passed on over that 
same famous road, partly coached on by us before, 
by the way of Kenilworth, to Coventry, and found it 
neither harder nor smoother than other fine roads, but 
lined with a row of stately limes and elms for most 
of its extent, and for that reason difficult to be matched 
anywhere. We paused at Kenilworth and saw it again 
as described in a preceding chapter, and then made at 



IN WARWICKSHIRE AGAIN 



297 



a dash the seven-mile run to Coventry, with dust fly- 
ing, because of gusts of wind, and with rain descend- 
ing fast over the surrounding hills. But the rain did 
not come upon ns; we seemed charmed against it! 
Coventry looked as natural and busy as ever, and 
Peeping Tom in the bargain. The only new thing I 




That "Finest Drive" Road to Coventry. 



witnessed there was one of the oldest : the Old Wom- 
en's Home, a quaint structure, fully rive hundred years 
old, surrounding a court and with a tiny garden of 
flowers. Each old lady inmate has a suite of very 
small rooms, prettily and neatly furnished, clean, 
bright and cheerful, and filled with souvenirs which 
they were eager to exhibit. No woman should 



2Q8 



KWH HIT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



visit Coventry and not take a peep at it, to show how 
delightfully old ladies may live, even when they are 
poor, if " sweet charity," with wise foresight and an 
artistic guiding sense, going hand in hand, provides a 
home like this. 

There is a less direct road from Coventry to Leam- 
ington than by Kenilworth, and it passes by Stone- 
leich Abbey. This is an abbev rarelv visited bv tour- 




./ Brake Leaving Kenilworth. 

ists, and yet it is one which, because inhabited, and in 
the midst of a fine estate, is worth the trouble to in- 
spect. Lord Leigh is the owner, and Stoneleigh is a 
word formed out of the family name; a convenient 
mode < if designation. I remember well the long drive 
into and out of the estate, the massive oak trees, the 
open fields, then the ivy-covered buildings and the 
present century-and-a-half large, square, massive front 



IX WARWICKSHIRE AGAIN 



299 




-oo BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

to the inhabited mansion; and afterward the gentle- 
ness of the housekeeper, who, in the owner's absence,, 
admitted visitors to many of the apartments. There 
were old paintings, quaint furniture and an air of com- 
fort rather than of great wealth within the home. I 
especially recall some fine marble figures by Canova, 
some portraits by Vandyke, and various paintings by 
Perugino, Durer, Holbein, Guido Reni, Teniers, Cuyp 
and Sir Peter Lely; enough to show that the various 
owners of the abbey have possessed considerable 
amount of artistic taste. The late Lord Leigh was a 
" kind and philanthropic nobleman," and here he en- 
tertained his sovereign, Queen Victoria, in June, 1858. 
The present Lord Leigh is a man seventy-seven years 
of age and universally respected. It must not be sup- 
posed that the present Abbey is the same founded here 
before the Norman period. That long ago disappeared,, 
except its noble gateway- The present edifice was built 
in part in the reign of Queen Elizabeth; its whole 
front, however, is of more recent date. The illustra- 
tion shows the Elizabethan portions of his lordship's 
home. 

After Stoneleigh, Warwick Castle. We drove to it 
to find it open, and once again went through its show 
rooms of treasures and saw its magnificent gardens 
and surroundings. Then we coached the eight miles 
remaining to take us to Oxford, where again we com- 
pleted the circle of our fourth coaching trip. The road 
on this last day was so good, the air so clear and cool, 
the merriment so unusual, perhaps on the principle 
that we should be merry when we could, as it might 
not last into the to-morrow, that it is well imprinted 
on the memory. A sign hanging in front of one of the 
last inns passed showed a buxom young woman in a 
blue and vellow costume. With shield in one hand,. 



IX WAUWKKSIIIKi: AGAIN 






and trident in the other, she leaned her head against 
the English flag, planted her sandaled feet firmly on 
the sand, and looked on the expanse of indigo blue 
water as though she defied anyone to dispute the 
right of Britannia to rule the seas. This was our last 
stop for the thirsty horses until we entered Oxford 
when of a sudden came a mild rain, which somewhat, 
but only slightly, interfered with another ride through 
the " city of colleges." Here I visited the grave in 
Holywell cemetery, close by the church, to pay our 
respects to the memory of the man who had conducted 
lis in the past over hundreds of miles of rural Eng- 
land, without any serious error of judgment, or a flaw 
perceptible in his sweet and kindly temper. 





King Arthur and His Men-it- Knights. 



XX.— THE LAND OF KING ARTHUR.. 



FOR THE nonce we abandoned Oxford as a cen- 
tre of coaching, to secure a glimpse from the 
Devon bluffs of the great Irish sea, and to view 
with our own eyes that land of song and story 
known as King Arthur's land. If King Arthur ever 
existed — and I should be the last to prick any 
bubble of historical certitude about it — the West of 
England, among the bleak hills of Cornwall, would 
be just the country where he must have lived with 
his " ladies passing fair " and his gallant knights. Ro- 
mances of such a nature as his must, of necessity, be 
interwoven with the sea and land, and nowhere in 
England is there such a blending of the heroic and 
strong in these two elements of nature as on the coast 
of Cornwall. A rockbound coast, fierce and cold in 
winter, cool and grateful to its inhabitants in summer, 
a fitting place for pirates and their seclusion, a normal 
home for deeds of daring and acts of gallantry. And 
surely Tintagel must have been the seat of power 
and the birthplace of Chivalry in the days of Sir 



LAND 01 KING ARTHUR 303 

Launcelot and Queen Guinevere, of Sir < rawaine and 
Sir Percivale. 

With the " Idylls of the King/' in mind, I took a 
train from Salisbury and visited Exeter with its 
attractive cathedral and rich librar) of mediaeval 
lore and spent a night there. Next day I set foot in 
Plymouth, ^i Puritan Fathers' fame. Then by rail I 
was set down, about three-thirty in the afternoon, at a 
little place called Wadebridge, on the river Camel, 
where it widens out almost like a bay, about seven 
miles from the sea. It has rather bleak surroundings, 
but not nearly so much so as farther south toward 
Land's End. Boats of small size come up from the sea 
•at high tide, and those and pasture lands, and some 
fields of wheat and barley, make up the whole of a 
limited scene. The " Molesworth Arms " hotel is 
comfortable enough for anybody; it has good food 
and clean beds. From this point (as the railway ended 
at Wadebridge) I went with my friends to the north 
in the accustomed and favorite way — the coach. 

Before beginning' a narrative of this journey, 
something more should be said of Cornwall, whose 
shape, as schoolboys will remember, is not unlike that 
of Southern Italy. It has been called a " Wellington 
boot." According to the legend of the " Lionnesse," 
referred to in Spenser's " Fairie Oueene " and nar- 
rated more fully by Camden, one hundred and forty 
parish churches were at one time buried in the sea be- 
tween St. Michael's Mount and the Scilly Islands on 
the south coast. But that story is apocryphal. If it 
had been said that many vessels — not churches — had 
been caught off these dismal shores and wrecked 
every century, I would not say it was not almost the 
truth, for those Scillys are a treacherous lot. But 
it is not the story of Cornish copper and lead mines, 



o04 



KKKJIIT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 



nor their ancient history, that gives this shire so much 
interest to the world of thought. It is, instead, its lan- 
guage; a language now growing obsolete, and yet — 
to quote another — surviving " as Plutonic rocks force 
their way through superincumbent strata." It is re- 
markable that, when the Romans were in possession 
of Britain, this peculiar language was current in the 
whole of the southern part of the island, and not alone 
in Cornwall. It was a Celtic language, allied to the 
Welsh, rather than to the Irish or Scotch, and most 
melodious. It had full sway over a large piece of fer- 
tile territory, and was still spoken as a real language 
in the time of Henry VIII. Why did it suddenly 
decay? The Irish and Welsh tongues held out, why not 
the Cornish? Some one has fixed the date of 1678 
as that when the last sermon in Cornish was preached 
in Landewednack church, and to-day we are told its 
literary remains are confined to three or four manu- 
scripts, the earliest of which dates from the Thirteenth 
Century. English took its place so quickly after 
Henry VIII.'s time that by 1701 every Cornish man 
could speak in that tongue. In 1733 it was said that 
only one living man ( William Gwavas) " had a per- 
fect knowledge of the Cornish language." There is 
an inscription on Dolly Pentreath's tomb in Paul, 
Cornwall, which is curious enough if true: " Here 
lieth interred Dorothy Pentreath, who died in 1778, 
said to have been the last person who conversed in 
the ancient Cornish, the peculiar language of this 
country from the earliest records till it expired in this 
parish of St. Paul. This stone is erected by the Prince 
Louis Lucien Bonaparte, in union with the Rev. John 
Garret, vicar of St. Paul, June, i860." Paul is three 
miles south of Penzance. 

Max Muller, whose article on " Cornish Antiqui- 



LAM) OK KIN'C AKTIM R 



305 



ties," in his " Chips from a German Workshop," gives 
in compact shape the best received opinions on the 
subject of this language, says Of it: 'The language 




.7 Waterfall Near Tintagel. 



of the Celts of Cornwall has lived on in an unbroken 
continuity for at least two thousand years." Strange 
enough, especially when we consider how little that 
language has to show for itself to-day. Possibly it has 



306 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

given form to two hundred words in the living Eng- 
lish of the present and the museums have three or 
four Cornish books! 

With these thoughts and the difficulties of solving 
the questions connected with them, 1 ascended the 
coach at Wadebridge at the northern end of this queer 
county. Between Wadebridge and Camelford sta- 
tion, where we found a new railway intersecting the 
region, there was no scenery of which to speak. It 
grew more interesting as we neared Tintagel, three 
hours from Wadebridge, and we saw some slate quar- 
ries, but on the whole the day's drive was mediocre 
compared with coachings elsewhere. 

But Tintagel! Tintagel by the sea! Aside from 
Arthurian legends, it proves itself a joy to any trav- 
eler, especially on a day of sunshine. Its great sight 
is the ruined Castle of King Arthur. It cannot be 
driven to, exactly, for the village and its inn are just 
a mile away, but from that point one walks down- 
hill through a long lane, and then arrives at ruined 
stone walls facing the sea, and, in fact, extending over 
and across an island, once an isthmus projecting out 
abruptly and loftily into the ocean. Devon has gen- 
erally a pretty rockbound coast, but it is unusually 
beautiful at Tintagel and Boscastle. Lying out there 
on the grass within the castle, in the best of company. 
I spent two hours in dreaming blissfully of the days 
when Arthur, the " blameless King," in this Castle 
was unassailable and invincible. Did he ever hold 
here his court and assemble yonder his Knights of the 
Round Table? It must have been in size an enormous 
stronghold, and the present keep of the Castle, its 
oldest part, quite certainly goes back to Saxon days. 

" Tintagel, half in sea and half on land, 
A crown of towers." 



1 AND OF KING ARTHUR 307 

It was a weird, out-of-the-way retreat for any knight 
in mediaeval days. 1 1 the < >rder of Knights was insti- 
tuted here, and Guinevere, tired of such solitariness, 
forsook Arthur for the love of Sir Launcelot, "his 
bravest knight and dearest friend,*' one may hardly 
wonder. After these ponderings, 1 climbed higher up 
the hill and again sat down, rested, and looked out far 
across the Atlantic, where I discerned steamers and 
sailboats, and all the sparkle and spangle of mild-man- 
nered whitecaps on the sea, and harmless wavelets rip- 
pling against the rocky shore. Tintagel is a resort for 
artists, because sky and sea, promontories and shore- 
line and chasm, are altogether grand and artistic. That 
chasm between the mainland and the island is so deep 
and wild that, while men may go down into and clam- 
ber over it, it requires some courage and a good pair 
of lungs to do it with satisfaction. For here — 

" The dark cliffs beetle coldly o'er the deep, 
Fringed by the lace work of pearl-threaded foam 
That mermaids weave and hang along the shore.'" 

The everlasting war between sea and land is waged 
along this coast as nowhere else, perhaps, about all 
the shores of Britain. The sea-birds are everywhere 
whirling in the air and flying into their nests under 
the projecting rock, and, if one is fortunate enough 
to see now the rare, red-legged Cornish chough, he 
can realize how strangely old is the legend, which says 
that in that bird the spirit of King Arthur still haunts 
the scene of the Round Table. Arthur, as it is said. 
died of his wounds in the vicinity (about 520, A. D.) 
and was buried w r ithin sound of these same voices of 
the sea. 

" Thou seest dark Cornwall's rifted shore, 
Old Arthur's stern and rugged keep; 



308 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

There, where proud billows dash and roar, 
His haughty turret guards the deep. 

" And mark yon bird of sable wing, 

Talons and beak all red with blood, — 
The spirit of the long-lost King 

Passed in that shape from Camion's flood." 

It is interesting - to read on this spot that quaint 
description of Leland, written about 1535, which 
shows how thoroughly old and in ruins this Castle 
then was: " From Bossinny to Tintagel Castel on 
the shore a mile. This castelle hath bene a marvelus 
strong and notable fortress, and almost situ loci in- 
expugnabile, especially for the dungeon, that is on a 
great and terrible cragge environed with the se, but 
having a drawbridge from the Residew of the castelle 
onto it. There is yet a chapel standyng withyn this 
dungeon of S. Ulette alias Uliane. Shepe now fede 
within the dungeon. The Residew of tne Buildings 
of the castel be sore wether beten and in ruine, but it 
hath been a large thinge. This castel standith in the 
paroche of Trevenny and the paroch thereof is of St. 
Symphorian, ther caulled Simiferian." And again: 
' Ther is yn the isle a pretty chapel, with a tumbe on 
the left syde. Ther ys also yn the isle a welle, and 
ny by the same is a place hewen out of the stony 
grownde to the length and brede of a man. Also ther 
remayneth yn.the isle a grownd quadrant-walled as yt 
were a garden plot. And by this walle appere the 
mines of a vaulte." The Castle had then been unin- 
habited perhaps a hundred and fifty years. We know 
it was occupied in 1245 by the Earl of Cornwall, who 
sheltered David of Scotland, then Prince of Wales, 
within its walls. In 1397 the Earl of Warwick was 
certainly there. Then its habitable history ends. 
That chapel of which Leland speaks is still standing, 



LAND OP KING ARTHUR 309 

on the edge of the cliff. It was dedicated to St. Ma- 
teriana, and is probably the oldest church in Cornwall; 
so old that its foundation date is unknown and cannot 
even be guessed. 

The best description of Tintagel is that by William 
Howitt, written full sixty years ago. It ought to be in 
the hands of whoever sits down on the grassy turf in 
this wild and barbaric spot, so that he may read it 
aloud and bring back the early scenes which the 
author's imagination has reclothed with life and splea- 
dor. A bit of it my readers may thank me for repro- 
ducing: "The polypody and hartstongue hung in 
long, luxuriant greenness on the mossy acclivity at 
my right, the small wild rose blooming among them; 
on the left ran, dashing and murmuring, a clear little 
torrent, soon intercepted by a picturesque old mill, 
stuck in a nook of the hollow Hlow me, whose large 
overshot-wheel sent the water splashing and spatter- 
ing down into a rocky basin beneath. I stepped across 
this little stream, and wound along a path like a sheep- 
track up the steep side of the lofty hill on which stood 
the old palace. What a magnificent scene was here.! 
The ruins of that ancient place were visible over an 
extent that gave ample evidence of an abode- befitting 
.an okl British king; and their site was one worthy of 
the great hero of romance, the morning star of chiv- 
alry, and the theme of a thousand minstrel harps, ring.- 
ing in hall and bower, diffusing love and martial dar- 
ing in the sound. They occupied the hill on which I 
stood, and a high-towering and rock-ridged promon- 
tory, whose dark, tremendous precipices frown aw- 
fully over the sea. Arches and flights of steps cut in 
the native rock remain: and walls, based on the crags, 
as they protrude themselves from the ground, some at 
one elevation and some at another, and inclosing wide 



3 io BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

areas, which once were royal rooms, but are now car- 
peted with the softest turf; where the goat, or the 
mountain sheep, grazes, or seeks shelter from the noon 
sun and ocean wind, and where the children from the 
mill come up and pursue their solitary sports, build 
mimic castles with the fallen stones of the dwelling of 
ancient kings, and enclose paddocks and gardens with 
rows of them. ... As the sound of the billows 
came up from below, and the cliffs stood around in 
their dark solemn grandeur, I gradually lost sight of 
the actual place, and was gone into the very land and 
times of old romance. The Palace of Tintagel was 
no longer a ruin; it stood before me in that barbaric 
splendor I had only before supposed. There it was, in 
all its amplitude, with all its bastions and battlements, 
its towers and massy archways, dark, yet glittering in 
the sun with a metallic lustre. The porter stood by its 
gate; the warder paced its highest turret, beholding, 
with watchful glance, sea and land; guards walked to 
and fro on its great drawbridge, their battle-axes Mail- 
ing in the morning beams as they turned; pennons 
were streaming on every tower, and war-steeds were 
neighing in their stalls. There was a sound and a stir 
of life. Where I had seen before the bare green turf, 
I now saw knights jousting for pastime in the tilt- 
yard; where the sea had rolled, I beheld a fair garden, 
the very model of that of the King's daughter of Hun- 
garie. 

'A garden that was full gay: 
And in the garden, as I ween. 
Was an arbour fair and green; 
And in the arbour was a tree. 
No fairer in the world might be; 
The tree it was of cypress, 
The first tree that Jesus chose. 
The soutnernwood and sycamore, 



LAND OF KING ARTHUR 311 

The red-rose and the lily-flower; 

The box, the beech, and the laurel-tree, 

The date, also the damyse: 

The filberds hanging to the ground, 

The fig-tree, and the maple round; 

And other trees there many a one, 

The pyany, poplar, and the plane, 

With broad branches all about, 

Within the arbor and without. 

On every branch sate birds three. 

Singing with great melody.' 

And in this arbour sate a noble dame, with a bevy of 
high-born damsels, whom she — 

' taught to sew and mark 
All manner of silken work, 
Taught them curtsey and thewe, 
t ,..lil and silk for to sew ;' 

and all nurture and goodly usages of hall and bower. 
Many a young- knight and damsel paced the pleasant 
garden walks in high discourse or merriment, and 
Other knights 'in alleys cool' were playing at 'the 
bowls.' 

" But the bugle blew; the great portcullis went up 
with a jar: there was a sound of horns, a clatter of 
horses' hoofs on the hard pavement, a cry of hounds, 
and forth issued from the castle court the most glori- 
ous pageant that the eye could look upon. It was no 
other than King Arthur, Queen Guinevere, and a hun- 
dred knights and dames, equipped and mounted for 
the chase. O! for some old minstrel to tell us all their 
names, and place their beauty and bravery all before 
us! There they went — those famous warriors of the 
table round, on their strong steeds; the fairest dames 
on earth, on their ambling jennets of Spain, witli their 
mantles of green, and purple, and azure, fluttering in 
the breeze, and flashing in the sun. There they went 
— that noble, stalwart, and magnanimous Arthur at 



312 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

their head, wearing his helmet-crown as he was wont 
in battle: that monarch of mighty fame, but mild and 
open countenance, who at fifteen had brought all 
Britain from uproar to peace, expelled the Saxons, 
conquered Scotland, and afterwards Ireland, Den- 
mark, Norway, Iceland, Gothland, and Swethland, and 
took captive their kings; killed the brave Froll, and the 
grim giant Dynabus; slew five Paynim monarchs, the 
Grecian Emperor, and put to flight Lucius, the Em- 
peror of Rome, whither he afterwards went himself, 
and was crowned by all the cardinals. There he rode 
with King Ban-Booght and King Bos, and the brave 
and loving friends Sir Gawaine and Sir Ywain : 

' Sir Lamicelot, Sir Stephen bold, 

They rode with them that day, 
And foremost of the company 
There rode the steward Kaye. 

' So did Sir Banier and Sir Bore, 

And eke Sir Garratt keen; 
Sir Tristram, too, that gentle knight, 
To the forest fresh and green.' ' 

To see Tintagel and to read Howitt on the spot 
where stood the " Round Table " is to have a bonnie 
day, like one of those the Arthurian knights must 
have enjoyed on many and many a month of their 
merrie years. 

The hotel at Tintagel, the " Wharncliff Arms," was 
the most attractive in its dining-room of any inn I 
had seen in Devon, and a better cold luncheon was 
never prepared. In front of it stands an old Greek 
cross of the Eighth Century, inscribed: "^Enat fecit 
hanc crucem pro anima sua." ("^Enat has made this 
cross for her soul,") and on the reverse side were 
the names of the four Evangelists. The stone was 
unearthed in the locality a few years ago, but its defi- 



LAND OF KING A It'll I I B 



313 



nite history is unknown. Tintagel itself and the sur- 
rounding villages are believed to date, as hamlets, 
from Arthurian days. It must have been always the 
abode of fishermen, just like Boscastle, which we 
reached at the next stage of the journey. A town a 
mile away was called Bossiney, and Leland said of it 
(about 1540): " This 



lossinny hath been a bygge 




Leaving the "Wharncliff Arms." 

thing for a fischer town, and hath great privileges 
graunted onto it. A man may se the mines of a great 
number of houses." A characteristic feature of the 
hamlets through which we passed on the way to Bos- 
castle was the slate formation of the houses, even 
to the porches and outbuildings, fences and walks. 
Everything was made of thin slate stones, placed flat 



314 BRIGHT DAYS IN MEERIE ENGLAND 

or on edge. It gives a lead color to things, but the 
sombreness goes hand in hand with neatness. Nearly 
every cottage, as in other towns, has its roses. Two 
whole slabs of slate, each seven feet long and three 
broad, are set on end in front of the doorways, with a 
similar cap over them, and this makes an inartistic, 
but, so far as the rain goes, substantial porch. The 
whole region in this part of Cornwall is of slaty for- 
mation. There are wild flowers in profusion. Often 
the land is fertile, though universally it is bleak, and 
there are many wind-swept gorges and few trees. 
What trees there are generally lean toward the east, 
because the high winds are all from the sea. 

The approach to Boscastle is like that of a descent 
to a stern and fathomless abyss. It is winding and 
steep. You cannot see the inn until you are right 
upon it by the edge of the brook, which is swift and 
dark. At this inn the sun shines in from between the 
hills in summer only an hour or two at noontime. 
It is a retreat away from earth, almost, it would be 
lonely, cold and dismal even on a July day, were it not 
that the hotel is so thoroughly comfortable and home- 
like. It is a Swiss location in a fastness; only the 
spot is deep out of sight and not high on the mountain 
side. Except that few towns in Switzerland perch so 
low, one would suppose he was in a cleft among the 
higher Alps, for the tinkling of the cowbells, the still- 
ness and dreariness of the hills, the sobbing of the 
brook as it tumbles over its stony bed, the disappear- 
ance of the sun and the deep shadows of the early af- 
ternoon, serve to remind one of an out-of-the-way 
place in the Swiss cantons. As at Tintagel, there is a 
walk down to the sea along the stream, and where that 
empties into the narrow arm of the ocean, which 
makes a tiny harbor at this point, pirates, we are told, 



LAND OF KING ARTHUR 315 




I 



316 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERKIE ENGLAND 

formerly dwelt in hiding. The origin of the settlement 
may have been the facilities afforded for the bucca- 
neers of the days of the Cabots, or its selection by fish- 
ermen. In either case, both trades must have flour- 
ished and romantic tales about them have descended 
from father to son. When you reach the sea the view 
is quite as fine as at Tintagel. If the promontories are 
less bold, the general contours of the view are quite as 
pleasing. Still, of the two spots, I prefer King Ar- 
thur's, and if one insists it is because of the castle and 
its legends, I will not quarrel with him for that, for 
probably it is true. Storied ruins make wondrous 
lovers of us all. 

The sun was really up and six hours high when we 
mounted coaches at the hotel " Wellington " at Bos- 
castle, but it was invisible, so deep down were we in 
the bowels of the earth. The usual long hill was sur- 
mounted, certainly a mile and a half in extent; then 
another still more steep — bitterly steep — of a mile. 
Then we were at last in Devon and Cornwall was left 
behind. Behold now trees / foliage, grain fields and 
thrift. Bude next; Bude Haven, it is called, because 
it has a good harbor. It is a modern village, too up- 
to-date; a watering-place in the season, and with a 
well-kept hotel, the " Falcon." This is all that is to be 
said of it, except that on a warm day the sun pours 
down with indomitable energy, and that a fine golf 
course is on the heights overlooking sea and town. 
Beyond Bude come what are termed " turfy heights." 
But they are really moors, a slice of the border of the 
Exmoors, and while it is a long way across to the 
real bleak lands near where John Ridd's sheep were 
.buried in the famous snowstorm so graphically de- 
tailed in " Lorna Doone,'' one can here see the whole 
scene, and believe that in mid-winter the same great 



LAND OF KING ARTHUR 317 

piles of snow might whirl round and round, burying 
sheep, hillocks, barns, men, or anything else. We 
saw here some of the longest white tufts of the cotton 
flower — I do not know its name — we ever came 
across, and it made me feel that, perhaps, during the 
night before, the snow had really come and the sun 
"had not melted all the crystals away. Perhaps they 
were the gray hairs of old fishermen who had met 
their deaths on these cold plains, and which had taken 
upon themselves forms of plant life to beautify the 
general barrenness! 

It is fifteen miles to Kilkhampton, and as we whip- 
ped up the horses and spun through the village and 
past the church embowered in Norman elms, I had 
no shock of surprise that Hervey in its church-yard 
conceived the idea of his " Meditations Among the 
Tombs." He was curate at Bideford, but he could 
never have conceived his solemn introspections there. 
Think of a man receiving £700 for publishing his re- 
flections on a graveyard! But I believe he took the 
money and devoted it all to charitable purposes; if so. 
God keep forever green his memory. He must have 
been out on the moors by day and among the, tombs 
by night, for the result was a plaintive Christian work 
which nobody now reads, but which our grandmoth- 
ers poured over as next to the Catechism and the 
Bible. There are really some fine monuments in that 
church, or said to be; we did not stop to see them. 
Several are memorials to the Grenvilles. whose home 
was at Stow upon a cliff, three miles away. Whincor- 
ners was the next chief breathing-place for our horses 
and, besides having a barmaid, who for shape and 
tallness was a grand specimen of what " wind and 
weather " could do in this section, it possessed as 



3i8 



KK1CIIT DAYS IN MKKltIK ENGLAND 



primitive a settle for winter's story-telling as I ever 
saw. But now came the culminating view and the 
grand finale — Clovelly ! 





'///(■ Birds Were in Unusual Numbers." 



XXI.— "DEAR, SWEET CLOVELLY " AND 
OLD BIDEFORD. 



N EARING Clovelly, one leaves the monotonous 
and dull — which it certainly is about Whincor- 
ners — and quickly drops into the picturesque 
and ornate. Even the woods, which are suddenly at 
hand, look finished, and there are signs of rich estates, 
well-tilled grounds and splendid pasture lands. The 
birds, too, sing again their songs; the " bluetits " hov- 
er thickly on the branches, and everywhere feath- 
ered songsters carol happiest notes. Before one can 
fully drink in these beauties and delights to eye and 
ear, the coach swings round the corner by the grounds 
of the parish church, (an ideal place for Sunday wor- 
ship and for a resting-place for the dead), passes by 
a deep wood, with stately oaks and ferns, and then 
suddenly conies to a stop. " Wherefore? " we asked. 
' There is no inn, no street, no town, in sight." But 
the answer came: '" All hands off; Clovelly," and 
clown we clambered. " Can this be Clovelly? Where 
is it?" There is a gateway across a lane which runs 



3 20 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERBIE ENGLAND 

down the hillside, and two men at the top with sleds 
to care for your baggage. No settlement in view; 
oh! yes, there is one lone cottage down the hill. 
Then we were told that no wheeled vehicle could en- 
ter Clovelly, and no horse would be found therein, 
even as an estray. Was it another Broeck, where 
cleanliness and silence are paramount to fashion and 
noise, and where utility is an exact science? We went 
tripping down the lane, a narrow, paved street with 
woods on either side, the luggage-carriers pulling our 
luggage upon their sleds. Suddenly, presto! we stood 
at the head of a single street-stairs, and there was 
Clovelly, the quaintest, crookedest, whitest toy-town 
in the world; the dearest, oddest, most curious sight 
in Christendom. 

Clovelly has a sweet name, calling up clover blos- 
soms and what not, but its own real self is sweeter 
than its title. It is at first sight a leaf torn out of the 
"Arabian Nights " — you find yourself in mirth over 
it as an imaginary picture, an unreal phantasmagoria. 
There is not a level spot in it, except it is artificial; 
no two houses have their doorsills horizontal with 
each other. In the one street down which you go, 
(the sole street that exists), you must hold back hard, 
for the angle is twenty-five degrees. Put on the brakes, 
or you will have a tumble, for every yard or two is a 
step and everywhere are corners and turns. No snake 
twists himself around more deftly. Every house is 
white as wool and every blind green as grass. Yet, 
except the blinds, no two bits of architecture are of 
the same style. Gables, chimneys, porches, windows, 
all are thrown in together to make a picture like bits 
in a kaleidoscope. The '' New Inn " is as old as Me- 
thuselah inside the door, and the " Old Inn " — well, 
the newest portion of the " New Inn " across the street 



CLOVELLY AM> <>LI> BIDEFORD 321 

is termed the " Old," but that makes no difference, for 
all is new and all is old. No two rooms in this hotel 
seem to be on the same level; none are of equal 
dimensions, but all are connected by doors or stair- 
wavs, even to the little room perched up on the hill 
back of the house, whence the view of the sunrises 
are so entrancing. No better meals are served in 
England than here, and nowhere are better attentions 
given to strangers. I could not ascertain how long 
the good old lady, Mrs. Berriman, the owner, ex- 
pected to live and continue to manage this hostelry, 
but apparently she is such a part of it, that, if any of 
my readers should return there in the year 2,000, he 
would naturally expect to find her still in possession. 
Very deaf as to hearing, but very bright as to know- 
ing, is this good landlady. And the one to go to this 
spot a century hence may also wager that Clovelly will 
not have changed one iota in size, style, color or 
custom. There is no room for another house, no need 
for another, no desire by anybody for another. One 
man, a lord, of course, owns the whole town, people 
and business. Probably he has a mortgage on its air, 
and when he dies his eldest born will continue to hold 
it. and keep holding it for generations to come. It 
was in the Domesday Book as Clovelly, and it will 
stand as Clovelly till the crack of doom. 

( )nce getting rooms — which, by the way. we 
picked out for ourselves — 1 naturally tumbled on 
farther down those street stairs to the foot, to view the 
village from the pier by the sea. ( >n the way I found 
the same turnings to right and left of the same one 
street, and the same tidiness apparent in every home 
and in front of it. No house had a garden before it, 
but was built plumb upon the street, though many 
had roses, fuchsias, geraniums and vines in profusion, 
21 



322 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



and there were constant effects in angles and nooks 
well calculated to make an artist crazy. The street 




A Street View in Clovelly. 



was fully paved from side to side, not a speck of earth 
appearing visible, and the whole was swept and gar- 
nished like the interior of a house for a wedding: . Dick- 



CLOVELLY A.ND <>I.I> BIDEFORD 323 

ens's "Message from the Sea" had been delightful 

reading- and should have prepared me for all this, but 
when one reads of a curious or beautiful prospect, he 
may admire the description, but he cannot assimilate 
it with his own thoughts; to see it is to know, to feel, 
to appreciate, to enjoy. As a traveler I never before 
reveled in a new-found source of pleasure like this 
in Clovelly; and even when, the next year, and the 
past year I again coached to that point to see it afresh, 
it was as bright and novel an experience as before; as 
clean-cut a gem for eyes and mind as the best Eng- 
lish strawberry for the palate, and that is saying a 
good deal, for the latter is the best berry on earth. 

■ Forests of beech come down to the sea on each 
side of Clovelly and they are of stately trees of densest 
foliage. From the pier I could see just where the 
town was perched — in a cleft on the hillside, where 
there ought to have been a dashing torrent and butter- 
milk waterfalls instead of men and houses. The sea, 
or Bideford Bay, rather, was as calm as a mill-pond. 
The curve from Westward Ho! around to Gallantry 
Bower was an exact semi-circle, or so looked to be, 
with Clovelly in the centre of the segment. Small 
rowboats for fishing lined the shore. A characteristic 
old salt gave us points of history for the asking, and 
next day, Sunday, I found him quite as ready to ask 
us for a church collection, for he was an officer in the 
Wesleyan chapel. There is a long pier and a break- 
water, and, on either, one can walk out until he ob- 
tains an excellent, uplooking view of this fishermen's 
village. Herring seems to be the main fish caught 
and it is liked for the breakfast table, though Ameri- 
cans usually prefer other diet. 

Outside of the one downhill street itself and its 
curiously built houses and paradises of vines and 



324 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



flowers, the two thing's which are most likely to inter- 
est a stranger at Clovelly are the display of china at 
the " New Inn " and a walk into the beech woods. 
As to china, did one ever see so much and in such 




./// Artistic House in Clovelly. 



queer places? In one small sitting-room I counted 
one hundred and seventy-four pieces, covering the 
walls, and in the dining-room there must have been a 
thousand, arranged in circles and squares and at ran- 
dom, just as ancient armor in armories and museums. 



CLOVELLY AND OLD BIDEFORD 

The whole collection numbers several thousand and 
is of every description of ware. Delft, Sevre, Worcester 
and what not, apparently mostly modern, but sonic. 
perhaps, dating back to days toward the Flood. They 
are now for sale, " in lump, or by the piece." lie- 
sides this collection, there are articles innumerable 
in rich mahogany, cherry, maple and other woods, all 
gathered together by this one lady who loved these 
things because they were beautiful. The beech woods 
abound in ferns, and under the dense shade of mag- 
nificently proportioned and tall trees I could have- 
spent hours " fancy free," rejoicing that in such a cor- 
ner of England the poorest fisherman with his family 
may enjoy as fine a natural park as the Queen at 
Windsor. 1 doubt, however, if he does; his whole 
heaven is the salt air and sea. 

In the morning, early, I saw one tiny donkey carry 
away the garbage in a basket on his back. When the 
housemaids empty water, they take it in a bucket to 
the gutter-grates, pour it out and it disappears, 
for Clovelly is well sewered and nothing runs or lies 
in the street which would defile. Every house-roof 
has leaders extending beyond its eaves, so that the rain 
will not drop down on the passer-by. Flag-staffs are 
abundant, proving the villagers must have their fre- 
quent jubilee days. We had for Sunday breakfast at 
the " New Inn " the incomparable English sole, tea 
and coffee, hot meats, the old-fashioned shortcake, 
marmalade and jams. For dinner there were soup, 
lamb, mutton, chicken, duck, ham and gooseberry 
tarts. I heard a Methodist sermon in the morning on 
"Gains," to whom the Apostle John wrote his Third 
Epistle, a plain, clear, logical talk. Others heard the 
rector of the parish church, which, by the way. has 
such a walk to it under yew trees, and such monu- 



326 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

ments to the Carys and others, who were its early pa- 
trons, that it pays well to make it a visit. The site of 
the church must be a thousand years old, or even 
older, and its front is quite certainly Saxon, while 
its roof is from the days of Richard II. The pulpit 
bears date " 1634," and the silver chalice used at com- 
munions, " 1577,'' in the time of good Queen Bess. The 
rollicking- Will Cary of those early days, who 
" served his king and his country in ye office of jus- 
tice of the peace, under three separate sovereigns. 
Queen Elizabeth, King James and King Charles I.", 
has not the only Cary monument in the church; there 
are seven others, all handsome. Charles Kingsley's 
father, of the same name, was rector ot this church 
from 1830 to 1836. A memorial brass is inscribed to 
the memory of the " Rector of Eversley, Canon of 
Westminster, Poet, Preacher, Novelist." The re- 
cent rector, Mr. Harrison, was his son-in-law; he died 
in charge a few years ago. The Yellery gate, which 
leads to Gallantry Bower, is closed on Sundays, but 
the park is one wherein the lords of the manor of 
Clovelly lived, from the Giffords to the Carys and 
Hamlyns, who still hold the title. The Bower ends 
in a well-wooded cliff, which projects out three hun- 
dred and eighty-seven feet sheer above the sea, and 
this is another in the series of extraordinary views, 
in the neighborhood of this remarkable village, 
to which I invariably say " goodbye, but for a sea- 
son only," agreeing with Captain Jorgan, in whose 
mouth Dickens puts the description: " And a mighty 
sing'lar and pretty place it is as ever I saw in all the 
days of my life." 

I twice took steamer from Clovelly for near-by 
ports, and found them swift and comfortable. In 
the one case I crossed over to Swansea, Wales; and 



CLOYELLY AND OLD BIDEFORD 327 

in the other to Ilfracombe. Almost every day of the 
week there are steamers arriving at the foot of Clovel- 
ly, bringing with them excursion parties, sometimes 
numbering hundreds, if not thousands. For this rea- 
son, during the summer months, there are many days 
when Clovelly is not a delightful place for a traveler, 
between the hours of twelve and five in the afternoon. 
As there is no pier, the fishermen are busily employed 
taking passengers off on small boats, and this assists 
them to make a living. The hotels and tea rooms are 
also the gainers in pounds, shilling and pence by these 
excursions, so that, on the whole, Clovelly is enriched 
by them. But on many accounts it seems a pity that 
so quaint a place, and one which has always been iso- 
lated from the rest of the world, should be used in 
July and August as daily dumping-ground for people 
who, in large part, come without eyes, but with great 
thirst in their stomachs for beer and stronger drinks. 
I had a talk one day with an old gentleman of the 
place who had been to London, and he remarked that 
he knew of only two or three other inhabitants of the 
town, who had ever been so far away as London. 
The people are born and they live and die on this steep 
declivity, and are as happy as if they had seen the 
whole wide world. One of the most interesting char- 
acters of the place is the oldest inhabitant of the town, 
a bronzed fisherman whom everybody knows; a stout 
body, hale and warm-hearted; a veteran of eighty- 
four. He has a son in the British navy, and has him- 
self travelled a little. He once personally superin- 
tended the embarkation of my little coterie of friends, 
when about to take one of the steamers before alluded 
to. This splendidly preserved old man has all the 
stuff in him to make a hero, but then I take it that 
multitudes <^i fishermen along the English coast, in 



328 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

lime of stress and storm, would be valiant in deeds 
of daring. Some of them are doubtless descendants 
of the old pirates, and now possess all their virtues 
with none of their vices. 

The exit from Clovelly by the " Hobby Drive " is 
like the last note of a beautiful symphony; it strikes 
a chord of regret as well as of responsive harmony. 
This drive is peculiarly grateful on a sun-swept da\ : 
what it would be under English clouds would depend 
on the temperament of the traveler. The coaches can- 
not go through it, but carriages may for the shilling, 
which is usually charged by lords abroad when they 
deign to open their parks to an American traveler, 
or one may walk for a sixpence. If the money goes to 
charities, as it is said to do, no one could complain, 
but as it goes to assist the proprietor in keeping out 
of debt, many do seem to grumble over it. However, 
the remarkably lovely road through a grove of oak. 
where huge ferns hide in the darkest corners and 
where are streams and moss-grown bridges, dells and 
glens, pays one for the cost, and gives a peep at the 
situation of Clovelly not to be obtained elsewhere. 
It is really a drive along the bay on the summit of a 
wooded hill, and is as charming as an outing along 
the bay of Naples. Only there is no Vesuvius and no 
Ischia. There are in the distance, instead, Gallantry 
Bower, Hartland Point, and, in the farther distance, 
the island of Lundy. Hartland Point, as is apparent 
from any view we get of it, is a promontory of great 
beauty and majestic proportions. The tradition that 
Ptolemy christened it " The Promontory of Hercules " 
may be a myth, but the bluff juts far out to sea, at the 
very angle where Bideford Bay meets the waters of 
the ocean, and it stands up three hundred and fifty 
feet above the water level, precipitous but wooded. On 



< LOYEl/i.V AND OLD BIDEFORD 

the top is a plateau, from which the views arc said to 
be fine, while on its " nose " is a lighthouse, with dwel- 
lings of the light keepers.* 

From this vantage ground all the best features 
of the Kingsley country must be visible, from West- 
ward llo! around to Sharpnose, and there is enough 
beauty in it to make several ordinary shires, though 
'tis all Devon. It is a district " endeared to all man- 
ly men and womanly women as the training ground 
of the great Sir Richard ( Irenville, the Spaniards' ter- 
ror, and of those brave youths who formed the im- 
mortal Brotherhood of the Rose;" also as the home 
of the stately Lady .Mary (irenville and gentle Mrs. 
Leigh.of Burrough.and ill-fated Rose Salterne. Kings- 
ley himself called these toothlike and concave edges 
of cliffs and slopes " the combes of the Far West,' r 
and his description is imperishable: " Those delight- 
ful glens," said he, " which cut the high tableland of 
the confines of Devon and Cornwall, and open each 
through its gorge of down and rock, towards the 
boundless western ocean. Each has its upright walls, 
inlaid of rich oak-wood, nearer the sea of dark green 
furze, then of smooth turf, then of weird black cliffs, 
which range out right and left into the deep sea, in 
castles, spires, and wings of jagged ironstone. Each 
has its narrow slip of fertile meadow, its crystal trout 
stream, winding across from one hill foot to the other; 
its gray stone mill, with the water sparkling and hum- 
ming round the dripping wheel; its dark rock pools 
above the tidemark, where salmon-trout gather in 
from their Atlantic wanderings; its ridge of blown 
sand, bright with golden trefoil and crimson lady's fin- 
gers; its gray bank of polished pebbles, down which 

♦For a general view of Clovellv, Gallantry Bower, and the sea, from 
the " Hobby Drive," see Frontispiece. 



330 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

the stream rattles toward the sea below. Each has its 
black field of jagged shark's-tooth rock, which paves 
the cove from side to side, streaked with here and 
there a pink line of shell-sand, and laced with white 
foam from the eternal surge, stretching in parallel 
lines out to the westward in strata set upright on 
edge, or tilted towards each other at strange angles by 
primeval earthquakes: — such is the ' Mouth ', as those 
.coves are called. To landward, all richness, softness 
and peace; to seaward, a waste and howling wilder- 
ness of rock and roller, barren to the fisherman, and 
hopeless to the ship-wrecked mariner." 

The coach must go around the Hobby Drive park, 
and at the entrance to it — for we have gone in by the 
back door — we must mount again and now traverse 
a pleasant English road, with no special attractions, 
but much prettiness in places, to Bideford, eight miles 
distant. Save a trifling hamlet or two, and a delight- 
ful wood to the left, there is only the sight of West- 
ward Ho! to the northwest deserving of record. We 
have for a while some views of the eminence back of 
that village in sight, but, later, see the town itself. 
Before the 'Fifties it did not exist. Then the novel of 
Kingsley appeared and the town, being built by a 
company, was christened after the successful book, 
and since that day a well-patronized bathing resort 
has sprung up. It has colleges, and the last I heard 
it was expecting a railway. 

If there are any special charms in Bideford as a 
place of residence I have failed to find them. It seems 
to be growing rapidly on the hill portion of it, by 
which we drive as we enter from Clovelly, so that 
some new-comers must be attracted to it. The river 
Torridge, which separates Old from New Bideford, 
is a good-sized stream, with some shipping. But I 



CLOVELLY AND OLD B1DEFORD 331 

know of only one building to detain the inquiring and 
hurried traveler. That is the one by the " Royal " ho- 
tel, which was in the days of Sir Walter Raleigh the 
warehouse through which entered into England near- 
ly or quite all the tobacco shipped from Virginia. At 
the end of the Seventeenth Century Bideford was, in 
importance, the third or fourth port in Great Britain, 
and even until 1755 it imported more tobacco than 
any port, occasionally excepting London. So, if one 
feels an interest in the American weed's introduction 
to his English cousins, he will pause a moment at this 
old warehouse, now some distance from any water, 
up to whose doors ships then floated, and have a few 
thoughts about it, as over similar spots connected with 
our early Colonial history. And. of course, he will 
note with some interest the old bridge across the river 
Torridge, almost directly in front of the hotel, built 
before 1350, which, it was once written, " for length 
and number of arches equalleth, if not excelleth, any 
other in England." It is six hundred and seventy-seven 
feet long and has twenty-four piers. It has been so 
widened and altered that probably few stones of the 
original bridge are to be seen still in situ; neverthe- 
less, the style has been preserved and doubtless all the 
old stones are in the new one. The comfortable and 
excellent hotel mentioned at the end of the bridge near 
the railway station keeps a " Kingsley room " for 
show, the place where the author wrote some of his 
works. As usual, the porter expects a fee if you look 
into it, but it is worth the examination, because it has 
not been altered since Kingsley's day. A more in- 
teresting object to an American is the parish register. 
where, under date of March 27. 1588. is recorded the 
baptism of " Christenynge Raleigh," an American In- 
dian, the same who was brought to England by Sir 



332 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

Richard Grenville, and who died only one week later. 

Grenville, by the way, who has been mentioned irt 
connection with Clovelly, was one of England's real 
heroes, notwithstanding he received no mention in 
the great " Encyclopaedia Brittamca." He is the na- 
val admiral who, when on a single bark, the " Re- 
venge," was surrounded by fifty Spanish men-of- 
war, each twice the size of his own. He fought them 
all night long and the enemy was unable to board his 
vessel. " Not till his powder was spent, more thsn 
half his crew killed, and the rest wounded,'' did the 
flag lower. He had absolutely refused to surrender. 
Mortally wounded, he was carried upon a Spanish 
ship to die, and these were his last words: " Here- 
die I, Richard Grenville, with a joyful and a quiet 
mind, for that I have ended my life as a good soldier 
ought to do, who has fought for his country and his 
queen, for honor and religion." Elizabeth was his 
queen, his country was his honor, and I trust his re- 
ligion was of as good a sort as his patriotism. Gren- 
ville was an inhabitant of Bideford, having a fine town- 
house there, and, by his enterprise and genius, gave 
the place its start in a commercial way. He obtained 
its first charter and opened its first market. Between 
the old " Ship Inn," where the lovers of Rose Sal- 
terne dined together and formed the Brotherhood of 
the Rose, (now known as the " Newfoundland " ho- 
tel), and the Bridge Hall, was Grenville's garden. 
His house overlooked the river and its back was on 
Allhalland street. " Castle Inn " is supposed to stand' 
on its site. Then the river and its quay extended to- 
his grounds and his vessels of war started from that 
point; now the river is much narrower and more shal- 
low. 

There is a story of Bideford which will bear 



CLOVELLY AND OLD BIDEFORD 333 

many repetitions, as showing what one brave knight 
could do by the exereise of ingenuity. Sir William 
Coffin was master of horse when Henry \ III. had 
Anne Boleyn crowned, and had participated in the 
glories of the Field of the Cloth of ( iold in 15 19. He 
did not reside at Bideford, but he was passing its par- 
ish church one day and saw a erowd of people. In- 
quiring the cause, they said a poor man, dead, was 
about to be buried, but the priest had refused to per- 
form the last rites unless his fees were first paid, and 
he wanted the dead man's cow for his fee. Sir Wil- 
liam was shocked and ordered him to proceed. But 
lie refused. Then he called on the bystanders, who 
were, to a man, out of sympathy with the priest, and 
told them to put that priest in the grave and bury 
bun alive. This they proceeded to do. The priest cried 
for mercy, but Sir William would none of it. At last, 
when only his head was out, and the chances were 
.against his saving his own life, the priest agreed to 
and did read the service. The case went to Parlia- 
ment, but Sir William p-ot off scot free, and, besides, 
secured an act limiting the fees to be extorted from 
the poor at funerals. 

The first president of Harvard College was a rec- 
tor in Bideford and had charge of the parish church of 
St. Mary. The latter is a modern edifice, but had a 
most worthy predecessor, which was consecrated in 
1259, and is said to have remained intact until the 
Reformation. Tt was to this church, says the local his- 
torian, that " My Lady Countess of Bath, whom Sir 
Richard Grenville is escorting, cap in hand, and Bas- 
sets from beautiful Umberleigh, and Carys from more 
beautiful Clovelly, and Fortescues of Wear, and For- 
tescues of Buckland, and Fortescues from all quar- 
ters, and Coles from Slade, and Stukeleys from Aff- 



334 BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

ton, and St. Legers from Annery, and Coffins from 
Portledge, and even Copplestones from Eggesford, 
thirty miles away, and last, but not least (for almost 
all stop to give them place), Sir John Chichester of 
Raleigh, followed in single file, after the good old 
patriarchal fashion, by his eight daughters and three 
of his famous sons," came " to join with Mrs. Leigh, 
of Burrough, in thanksgiving for the safe return of 
her son, Amyas Leigh, from the famous voyage with 
Drake round the world." There is a story told " that 
ct the time of the great Civil War the font was stolen 
from the church, and that many years afterwards it 
was discovered in a pigsty, serving the humble use of 
a trough for the pigs." 




ap— _ — . 


-SB n&* 


at- 




.. • " i n"H> ami ; " 



Old Bridge at Mahnsmead. 



XXII.— THE HOME OF LORNA DOONE. 



UNTIL within a year or two the only approaches 
to Lynton, a village upon the Bristol Channel, 
on the high coast ridge overlooking, in front, 
the sea, and, at the back, the Exmoor, were by coach 
from, respectively, Minehead, Ilfracombe, or Barnsta- 
ple. Having heard that the Barnstaple route was the 
most picturesque, I had arranged for transit from the 
commercial capital of North Devon, upon the river 
Taw. for the eighteen miles drive to Lynton. But 
discovering that a railway, albeit only a " toy " one, as 
it is called, was in operation between the two places, 
I tried that to gain time, preferring to begin real 
coaching from Lynton. It was well so, for North 
Devon hills are " dreadful." I judge the views from 
that tiny railway, the rails of which are less than two 
feet apart, and which follows up the valley of the Yeo, 
are quite as enjoyable as if from a coach. It is a feat 
of engineering to cross and recross the deep valley 
and gain the nine hundred feet of ascent without a 
less speed than twelve miles an hour. Beside the 
bracing air, the odd sight of hares running to their 



336 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

coverts, the exquisite pieces of wood and the two or 
three old churches, in one of which services are held 
but once a year, there is little to speak of until the 
station at Lynton is reached. Then one looks in vain 
for either village or sea. The forests and a hill shut 
out the view. We started down hill, according to 
directions, and oh, what a hill! There are longer but 
few steeper in all England. This was a good three- 
quarter mile one at least, and as steep as the Falls of 
Lodore. One needs all his brakes of muscle and 
backbone to go down that declivity. At the foot, sud- 
denly, Lynton appears, with its short, crooked and 
uneven streets and its many fine hotels. One would 
have conjectured that the descent must have taken 
him to the sea-level. But no, this is a village on a 
mountain top, and Lymnev.th is still four hundred 
ieet farther down toward the bowels of the earth. 

We entered the " Royal Castle " hotel grounds and 
then saw Lynmouth in its proper place, at the mouth 
of the two Lyns, the sea-sands with a forked tongue 
pointing toward it, and the shadows of the early morn- 
ing resting on its fishermen's cabins and an active 
street life. We had left Barnstaple not a long while 
after the sun-rising, but it is always near noon before 
the rays of that orb pour down into the little valley 
where these men of the sea have their homes. 

Lynton is an elegant spot for the breezes from the 
ocean and for view r s of mountains and forests. Not 
so quaint as Clovelly, it has more modern life and is 
more popular as a place of resort. Why people live, 
or why visitors spend, weeks, where to go out for a 
walk means hill-climbing of the severest sort, is not 
inexplicable, because the English like a good climb 
before breakfast, and the lovely glen scenery in any 



COUNTRY OF LORNA DOONE 337 

lirection is just a little better here than anywhere 
else in Devon. 

"Lynton! lone village peering o'er the deep; 

Thy features are all beautiful! thy woods 
In verdure hung down each majestic steep 

Enwrap a thousand blissful solitu 
\\ lure no stern glance or noisy throng intrudes 

To mar the sacred magic of the scene; 
Cliffs, grottoes, deepening glens, and foaming floods 

Are here in aspect noble, wild, serene, 
And cheer the heart with joy before unfelt, unseen." 

Lynton is wholly modern. Lynmouth is the older 
settlement, but it is not pretty. The hotels of Lynton 
have the grand sites. They look like castles perched 
on the crags, and are reckoned among the best hostel- 
ries on the west coast. 

The day was one set apart for a visit to the ficti- 
tious home of " Lorna Doone." Why should a story 
like this, of a time two hundred years and more agone, 
so hold readers in thrall that twenty Americans would 
go miles, starting before Barnstaple town was out 
of sleep, just to see the spot where John Ridd found 
the darling of his soul, and won her? Was it because 
of her strange life, and because he did win her at the 
last? Success in a novel means, usually, success for 
the novel. Anyhow, John Ridd's success, righting 
up to it through heroic means, such as would have 
balked many a weaker son of Exmoor, is one of those 
masterpieces of historical fiction which the world will 
not let die. Tt is a simple tale, in language as elo- 
quenl as it is tender, of pluck, courage, character, 
manliness, which has few equals and no superiors in 
the English tongue. So I am not ashamed to con- 
fess that I turned my face toward the Doone valley 
from Lynton with a radiant feeling of expectant hap- 
piness of a day of glorious reveries. If necessary, I 

22 



338 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

would have gone from London on purpose just for 
this one day. And the day closed without a shadow 
of disappointment, except that my tramp into the val- 
ley was not to the very end of it. 

The hills were not fitted for coaching proper and, 
therefore, our party had to be contented with two 
brakes, each holding ten persons. The drive was first 
down into Lynmouth — a most exasperating dip — and 
then slowly up and around the various twistings of 
the river Lyn — the East Lyn — until there is a fine 
view of " The Meeting of the Waters," the East Lyn 
and the Combe Park. On either side the road are 
oak woods, dense and solemn, and rock-strewed slopes 
appear at the various clearings. High upon the side- 
hills are lands cultivated with oats or wheat, or covered 
with furze. Moors and fens abound. There must be 
trout in these clear streams, whose waters are so 
brown in color and as cool as ice. We had to dis- 
mount soon after to compass a mile-long hill, after 
which there was good rural scenery, but nothing note- 
worthy, until, after nine or ten miles, Malmsmead was 
reached. That consists of a large cottage where re- 
freshments are obtainable. Here carriages must be 
left, for it is at the threshold to the Doone valley, ac- 
cess to which is either upon foot or horseback. 
Malmsmead is about one mile from Oare church, of 
which John Ridd was church-warden, and a half-mile 
further to the north is the so-called Ridd homestead. 
We saw both later, and ought to have visited the in- 
terior of the church, but time seemed to forbid. 

Before taking the reader with me into the valley, 
the questions will be asked, perhaps: Is there such a 
valley? Were there ever Doones? Is the story of 
Blackmore a myth? I grant the myth, but the basis 
of fact seems to be well understood in Devon. Some 



COUNTRY OF LORNA DOONE 



339 




j 4 o BRIGHT KAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

term the Doones " legendary outlaws," but the val- 
ley was called after them long before Blackmore wrote 
his work, and the tradition is clear and strong that a 
family or neighborhood of Doones were troublesome 
neighbors in the Seventeenth Century. There are re- 
mains of huts believed to belong to them. I see no 
reason to disbelieve that a foundation of truth exists 
as to these outlaws and as to their existence in this 
valley. 

There are only two methods of getting into the 
valley. ( )ne is by ponies. The tracks indicate that 
this method is not uncommon, and I am told ladies 
frequently hire the ponies, some of which, indeed, we 
saw at Malmsmead, and could have hired for ourselves 
had we chosen. The other method is to walk, which 
we did. We took a picnic lunch in baskets and car- 
ried it over the quaint bridge and on about three- 
quarters of a mile up a lane between hawthorne 
hedges to where there is a distinct turn in the path 
near some large trees. There we took time to dis- 
pose of the lunch, and there most of the party decided 
to remain, as the way seemed to grow tiresome, 
or difficult of ascent, or both. As a matter of fact it is 
not a hard task to keep on up by the Badgeworthy 
creek toward the head of the valley. A companion and 
myself made the effort to get at least into the 
loneliest defile and we probably walked two miles 
further than the picnic grounds. I was in no wise dis- 
appointed at the result. Others have written that 
Blackmore drew wholly on his imagination in describ- 
ing the Badgeworthy, but with that conclusion I can- 
not agree. At first the valley is wide and unattractive; 
one may say desolate. The stream seems not large 
and the walking is over a pin in path, sometimes stony, 
sometimes boggy, and usually not romantic. But when 



COUNTRY OF LORNA DOONE 341 

once the place called " Lorna's Bower" is passed (a 
spot near a small refreshment house on the opposite 
side of the Badgeworthj I, the valley soon narrows, and 
there is a bit of walking in a dense wood, full of 
larches, small, gnarled oaks, heavy ferns and wild-flow- 
ers, all beautiful to the eye. Here the locality sud- 
denly develops into real Robinson Crosoe isolation. 

We reached now open and now closed-in scenes, 
one moment rocky, wild and barbaric, the next calm 
and peaceful. There was no human being living there 
beyond the site of " Lorna's Bower." The creek was 
gloriously clear and sparkling. It dashed over and 
around the stones in hot chase down the valley. The 
" Waterslide " seemed not so formidable as Black- 
more has made it appear, yet I could see that in the 
winter or early spring it might be far more of a torrent 
than it is in August, and it might give even as stout a 
lad as John Ridd was, when he first essayed to walk 
up through it. a real tussel of strength and pluck. 
" I gathered my legs back slowly," he said. " as if they 
were fish to be landed, stopping whenever the water 
flew too strongly off my shin-bones, and coming 
along, without sticking out to let the wave get hold 
of me. And in this manner I won a footing, leaning 
well forward like a draught-horse, and balancing on 
my strength, as it were, with the ashen stake set be- 
hind me. Then I said to myself. ' John Ridd, the soon- 
er you get yourself out by the way you came, the 
better it will be for you.' But to my great dismay and 
affright. T saw that no choice was left me now, except 
that I must climb somehow up that hill of water, or 
else be washed down into the pool, and whirl around 
till it drowned me. For there was no chance of fetch- 
ing back, by the way I had gone down into it : and fur- 
ther up was a hedge of rock on either side < f the water- 



342 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

way, rising a hundred yards in height, and for all I 
could tell five hundred, and no place to set a foot in. 
Having said the Lord's Prayer (whicn was all I knew), 
and made a very had joh of it, I grasped the good 
loach-stick under a knot, and steadied me with my 
left hand, and so with a sigh of despair began my 
course up the fearful torrent-way. To me it seemed 
half-a-mile at least of sliding water above me, but in 
truth it was little more than a furlong, as I came to 
know afterwards. It world have been a hard ascent, 
even without the slippery slime, and the force of the 
river over it, and I had scanty hope indeed of ever 
winning the summit. Nevertheless my terror left me, 
now I was face to face with it, and had to meet the 
worst; and I set myself to do my best, with a vigor 
and a sort of hardness, which did not then surprise 
me, but have done so ever since. The water was only 
six inches deep, or from that to nine to the utmost, 
and all the way up T could see my feet looking white 
in the gloom of the hollow, and here and there I found 
resting-place, to hold on by the cliff and pant awhile. 
And gradually, as I went on, a warmth of courage 
breathed in me, to think that perhaps no other had 
dared to try that pass before me, and to wonder what 
mother would say to it. And then came thought of 
my father also, and the pain of my feet abated. How 
I went carefully, step by step, keeping my arms in 
front of me, and never daring to straighten my knees, 
is more than T can tell clearly, or even like now to 
think of, because it makes me dream of it. Only I 
must acknowledge, that the greatest danger of all was 
just where T saw no jeopardy, but ran up a patch of 
black ooze-weed in a very boastful manner, being now 
not far from the summit. Here I fell very piteously. 
and was like to have broken my knee-cap, and the 



COUNTRY OF LOKXA DOONE 343 

torrent got hold of my other leg, while I was indulg- 
ing the bruised one. And then a vile knotting of 
cramp disabled me, and for a while I could only roar, 
till my mouth was full of water, and all my body was 
sliding. But the fright of that brought me to again, 
and my elbow caught in a rock-hole; and so I man- 
aged to start again, with the help of more humility/' 

All of which is not so much out of keeping with 
the real water-slide as I saw it, and as it no doubt was 
in any February day, such as the " St. Valentine's day. 
i675-'6," when John is supposed to have done the 
fording. " Lorna's Bower," a pit or cavern near the 
water-way, he thus describes: "The chamber was of 
unhewn rock, round, as near as might be, eighteen 
or twenty feet across, and gay with rich variety of 
fern, and moss, and lichen. The fern was in its winter 
still, or coiling for the spring-tide; but moss was in 
abundant life, some feathering, and some gobleted. and 
some with fringe of red to it. Overhead there was no 
ceiling, but the sky itself, flaked with little clouds of 
April whitely wandering over it. The floor was made 
of soft, low grass, mixed with moss and primroses; 
and in a niche of shelter moved the delicate wood-sor- 
rel. Here and there, around the sides, were ' chairs 
of living stone,' as some Latin writer says, whose 
name has quite escaped me; and in the midst a tiny 
spring rose, with crystal beads in it, and a soft voice 
as of laughing dream, and dimples like a sleeping 
babe. Then, after going round a little, with surprise 
of daylight, the water overwelled the edge, and softly 
went through lines of light, to shadows and an un- 
told bourne." 

The houses of the Doones do not show off much, 
it is true: mere stones thrown around helter skelter, 
as if at some times they were in position to form huts. 



344 BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

But the whole valley is interesting, solemn, full of 
strange and romantic nooks. I would not have 
missed such a walk on a bright day for any half-dozen 
other walks in the west of England. Just south of 
this valley are the famous Exmoors, once called Ex- 
moor Eorest, but probably never having trees unless 
of a stunted growth. They are wind-swept, bleak and 
desolate: an expanse of twenty thousand acres, on 
which is little heather, and only coarse moor-grass, 
which affords some sustenance for cattle and for sheep. 
A winter snow-storm on those moors would be a ter- 
rible one to encounter. 

I returned without going entirely to the valley's 
head, and, after a glass of cool, sweet milk served by 
one of the lasses at the Malmsmead cottage, we soon 
took seats and drove on by Oare church, whose po- 
sition in a lovely spot among the trees, with the sun 
sifting its beams through their branches, was quite 
as picturesque as any other sight in the vicinity. In 
this church John Ridd and Lorna were married, as 
told in that graphic chapter entitled " Blood upon the 
Altar." By this church we swung around short to the 
left, and climbed up the hill, whence we had a view of 
the wide and noble Bristol Channel, and then our 
horses were turned back on the ocean drive toward 
Lynton. 

On this drive we had first a charming view of the 
Doone valley from a distance. Then we had the most 
superb' sight I ever remember to have seen in all my 
coaching days. It was a view of the English bell- 
heather and of the yellow furze, in full panoply of 
bloom. The heather was a purplish pink and the 
furze like pure gold, and these intermingled so thickly 
that they covered all the fields and stood out like a 
broad expanse of interfused splendor. I have seen 



COUNTRY OF I.oiiXA Doom: 



54; 




346 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

wild flowers on the plain of Esdrgelon and in the val- 
ley of Dothan, and still finer spectacles of them on 
the road from Nazareth to the Sea of Galilee, but they 
•would not compare with this glory of Countisbury 
Common. Did a king ever have such a garden? Were 
all the lilies of the field of Judea and all the roses of 
Kew ever so luxuriant and royal? I can hardly 
conceive it. Miles upon miles of heather and furze, 
and the sparkling bay beyond it, from which the fresh, 
salt air came up as incense from the sea — it was an 
inspiration just to look out upon that picture. The joy 
•of mere existence seemed never before quite so per- 
fect. There are times when Nature teaches us that 
" the world is full of the glory of the Lord," and at 
this moment it seemed as if He were walking near us 
with His real footsteps both on land and sea. 

At Lynmouth the hill to Lynton is so steep that 
few horses pull heavy loads to the summit. We dis- 
mounted from our coaches and took the cable incline, 
and in a few moments were landed near the main 
•street, from which other coaches need to be taken to 
ascend, in a round-about way, to the railway station. 
I am told that the road from Lynton to Ilfracombe 
through Combe Martin is also a fine one, but is some- 
what hilly and fatiguing. We were not able to try 
it. and I doubt if it equals, in views, the road over 
Countisbury Commons. 

Returning to Barnstaple we remained over night 
at the " Golden Lion " hotel, and this, by the way, is 
a curiosity. Its dining-room contains in the ceiling 
the date " 1625," and that ceiling is full of reliefs of 
Scriptural scenes, and of hounds, birds, lions, etc. The 
noble who built it for a mansion spared no money to 
make it worthv of his rank, if he did construct a " brid- 



COUNTRY OF LORNA DOONE 



347 



al chamber " with low ceilings and with no outlook. 
On the whole Barnstaple is a more quaint and inter- 
esting- place than Bideford. 








"The Darling Daughter of Charles I." (.From her Tomb'). 



XXIII.— AGAIN ON THE ISLE OF WIGHT. 



A FORMER drive on the Isle of Wight was made 
interesting chiefly from the associations of the 
journey with " the poet of Freshwater Bay " 
and of Charles I. at Carisbrooke. It never satisfied 
me. as I knew there were other bowers and chines, 
and many more delightful nooks and hills on the 
sweet island. So> at first opportunity, which did not 
come, however, until the past summer (1901), I en- 
gaged a spanking quartette of bays from Brown of 
Ventnor, and his handsome coach, the " Magnet," and 
set out with new friends to see the beauties of Bon- 
church and Shanklin, on the east coast, and then to 
traverse the road inward to Newport and homeward 
by Blackgang Chine and the " Undercliff." The earli- 
er drive had made a loop around the western end of 
the island. This maae a loop around the eastern 
end. Of necessity and of choice both loops met at 
Carisbrooke. 

I cannot relate all the charms of this memorable 
drive. Sometimes I am asked, " Which was the best 



a<;.u.\ on rin: isle of wight 



349 




350 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

day — the most enjoyable — of all your coaching days?"' 
and I shall never be able to reply. Each has had its 
sweetest honey, its truest song-notes. But a few stand 
out more clearly than the rest, and this day was one of 
such. Although the morning, following a wet night, 
was full of threatening rain and weather-doubts, after 
we left Ventnor, suddenly, one by one the shadows 
fled away, and the clear amber, bristling with sun- 
shine, made a straight open-way to our hearts and 
flooded us with expectations of delights. The heav- 
ens, black at nine, became propitious before ten, and 
as the bright beams drank up the raindrops, every 
copse and glen and ivied hall quivered with joy. A 
day is never so sweet as just after the morning clear- 
ing. The ivy and verdure of England are never SO' 
green as just after the mists roll atwain, and the sun 
kisses away the past Night's tears. 

The suburbs of Ventnor, of which the little village 
of Bonchurch is the prettiest, looked unusually lovable 
as we brushed down its main street, every turn of the 
tiny lane an artistic triumph, every cosy cottage cov- 
ered with garlands of roses and myrtles. At the top 
of the steep hill which leads down toward the sea we 
dismounted, in order to walk to the old church, so 
often pictured with its creepers and roses, in whose 
peaceful yard rest the remains of William Adams, who 
wrote " The Shadow of the Cross," and of John Stir- 
ling, whose last letter to Carlyle has gone into history. 
Adams died at the early age of thirty-three and Stir- 
ling when five years older. Carlyle thought enough of 
Stirling to write his life, a memoir " calm, tender and 
affectionate." A part of that " last letter," which the 
dying man stated was " for remembrance and fare- 
well;" reads: "I tread the common road into the 
great darkness without anv thought of fear, and with 



AGAIN ON THE ISLE OE WIGHT 351 

very much of hope. Certainty indeed I have none. 
Heaven bless you! If I can lend a helping- hand when 
there, that will not be wanting." On which Carlyle 
commented: " It was a bright Sunday morning when 
this letter came to me; if in the Great Cathedral of 
Immensity I did no worship that day, the fault was 
surely my own." 

The old church is of Norman times, not unlike a 
score or more of others of small dimensions in Eng- 
land. Its charm consists in its quiet location and its 
wealth of exterior growths, which make photographs 
of it so much sought after. Its porch is as exquisite as 
a spring day. and the vines, that almost smother the 
end of the building — the end farthest from the street — 
would be anywhere else than at Bonchurch, where 
luxuriance in growth has run into extravagance, a 
perpetual marvel. The tombstones in crosses are no- 
where else more like sacred poems in marble than in 
this churchyard, where on a sunny day one will find 
his soul reaching nearer heaven than in most burial- 
grounds of earth. There is a church of 1848 high- 
er up the hill, the churchyard of which is also a haven 
of tranquility. I have used the term " hill " in con- 
nection with Bonchurch, but the resident would hardly 
recognize that designation. Bonchurch, like Ventnor, 
is located on " The Cliff," or, more technically, " The 
Undercliff." This " Undercliff " extends from Bon- 
church. where it begins, a mile north of Yentnor, to 
Blackgang Chine, about six miles south of Ventnor. 
It is a row of cliffs, forming above and behind a huge 
plateau. They look somewhat like the palisades of 
the Pludson. Wherever streams have cut their way 
through these rocks to the sea, are " chines." Over- 
hung with heavy foliage, " deep, dark and dank," 
these chines are cool retreats on summer days, and 



552 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

favorites for travellers, who love the curious geology 
of such phenomena. Bonchurch was a settlement 
seven centuries before Yentnor, and, now that it has 
joined its new neighbor as a municipality, it will en- 
large and thrive, but its peculiar beauties will never 
diminish. 

The road from Bonchurch to Shanklin goes inland 
a bit, and then sweeps around in a series of beautiful 
curves till it again approaches the sea. At one point 
it looks as if one were far away from human life, and 
only the high downs to the west, grassy and treeless, 
and the sea to the east, come into the range of vision. 
Shanklin is two miles from Bonchurch as the crow 
flies, though nearly four miles by the public road. That 
road, as all roads on the Isle of Wight, is smooth as 
our Fifth avenue, and yet without a house or an in- 
habitant, so far as I recall. For this reason, it is an 
astonishing transition to drop suddenly in upon a 
place of over three thousand people, whose loveliness 
from any artistic point of view surpasses even Bon- 
church. From almost a wilderness to a garden of 
Eden, and all in a few moments of time. English 
towns, or cities for that matter, never straggle out as 
American villages do, far into the country. The first 
house in and the last out are universally contiguous 
to, or parts of rows and blocks of, other dwellings, so 
that, in walking or driving, in an instant you have 
crossed the line between open country and built-up 
municipality. The English people like to herd closely 
together. Doubtless it is an outgrowth of feudal times, 
when such close contiguity was necessary for purposes 
of defense. I hardly know why the practice continues, 
but now, as in the Middle Ages, it is the rule for all 
town limits to " stop short, like grandfather's clock." 

I have stated that Bonchurch ends the " Under- 



a<;ai.\ on the [Slb of wight 



353 




354 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERItlE ENGLAND 

cliff." But Shanklin starts and ends upon a new cliff, 
which is at least a hundred feet above the sea, and this 
is, itself, surrounded by lofty hills, six hundred feet 
above the ocean level. Entering it from the south we 
find the older part of the place a paradise of trees, 
shrubbery and creepers. I know of no town on the 
island where the central and business portion is so 
enveloped in bowers of green as Shanklin. " Hollier's " 
hotel and its companion inn are one indescribable 
mass of luxuriant ivy, and the entrance to Shanklin 
Chine, next to the hotel, is the beginning of a rare 
scenic retreat. Longfellow, when he visited Shanklin 
in 1868, penned these lines, which are placed on a 
shield over the fountain at this Chine: 

"O traveler, stay thy weary feet; 
Drink of this fountain, cool and sweet; 
It flows for rich and poor the same; 
Then go thy way, remembering still 
lhe wayside well beneath the mil, 
The cup of water in His name." 

This Chine, with its great yawn into the darkness of 
the earth, is probably the one perennial source for 
drawing tourists, and I am told, by those who have 
pursued its brief way to the sea, that it is, especially 
when the waterfalls are in operation, full of pictur- 
esque sights. The rains of the night before had made 
it so wet that I did not undertake the journey. On 
the occasion of this visit there were no waterfalls, for 
the summer had been dry; it was in August. We 
found Shanklin to be a busy place and full of hand- 
some summer residences. But more handsome still are 
Shanklin parish church and its old rectory, both ex- 
quisitely-set jewels amid emerald brilliancy. 

Somewhere in the ocean hereabout, that is, within 
view of Shanklin on a clear day, the ship " Eurydice " 



a<;aix on tiik isle <>f \vi<;iit 



355 



was capsized in March, 187X, with great loss of life. 
Off farther in the English channel toward ( herbourg 
occurred that memorable fight between the " Kear- 
sarge " and the "Alabama" (June [9, [864), when 
the Confederate steamer — Captain Semmes, com- 
mander — was sunk, and a final heavy blow dealt to 
privateering on the big seas. 




Home of the Dairyman's Daughter, Arreton. 



From Shanklin our course was north and then 
west by Branstone and Horringford to Arreton, fa- 
mous as the burial place of the " Dairyman's Daugh- 
ter." The home of this young girl, whose life our 
grandmothers almost knew by heart, was along the 
road, a mile and a half south-east of Arreton. It is a 
large, plain, white, stone cottage, kept in such good 
order that its age would not be conjectured. It stands 



356 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

back from the road about two hundred feet, having a 
garden in front, and large outbuildings not far away. 
It is not especially English, but is a large, roomy, sub- 
stantial building, and of world-wide interest, because 
within its walls lived one whose pious young life, il- 
luminated Dy the genius of Eegi. Kichmond, was 
once read to the extent of millions of copies, which 
were circulated in at least nineteen languages. Few 
works (it was originally prepared as a tract) has ever 
so influenced mankind. Unlike most books, it was 
not a mere intellectual performance; it was the rec- 
ord of a real life; a life of self-abnegation, self-sacrifice 
and toil for the poor and afflicted. 

Old Arreton church and its surrounding graves 
are in the village, back from the main street, ap- 
proached by a short lane. Xo town inhabitants were 
visible as we went toward the spot. Were the men, 
women and children all in the harvest field? Per- 
haps so, for the wheat was being gathered, and there 
were bountiful harvests. The church was locked, and 
so we wandered behind it, and readily found the plain 
thin, marble stone, on which was inscribed, " Eliza- 
beth Wallbridge," the date of her death and age, (1801, 
aged 31) and this epitaph: 

" Stranger! if e'er, by chance or feeling led, 
.Upon this hallow'd turf thy footsteps tread; 
Turn from the contemplation of this sod, 
And think on her whose spirit rests with God. 
Lowly her lot on earth, but He who bore, 
Tidings of grace and blessings to the poor, 
Gave her, His truthfulness to prove. 
The choicest treasures of His boundless love: 
Faith that dispell'd afflictions darkest gloom; 
Hope, that could cheer the passage of the tomb, 
Peace, that not Hell's dark Legions could destroy; 
And Love, that fill'd the soul with heavenly joy. 
Death of its sting disarm'd, she knew no fear, 
But tasted Heaven e'en while she lingered here: 



AGAIN ON THE ISLE OF WIGHT 357 




358 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

Oh! happy saint, may we like thee be blest 
In life be faithful, and in death find rest." 

Next to her lies buried her elder sister, whose death 
was the occasion of Legh Richmond's acquaintance 
with Elizabeth. There were wild flowers upon the 
rounded mound, and the sun shone warm and loving- 
ly above it. By ringing a bell at the gate to the rectory 
we were enabled to secure admission to the church, 
a curious edifice, mentioned in Domesday Book (1085) 
and probably belonging to an earlier century, though 
the most of what remains is of somewhat later date. 
If one desires to study Norman architecture in its sim- 
plest forms, following on to the early English, he can 
do it at Arreton without much effort. I saw one 
Fourteenth Century epitaph on an ancient brass above 
a figure in plate armor which is very odd; but if I 
begin to quote epitaphs from English graveyards there 
will be no end of them, as the land abounds in quaint 
ones. If time had permitted, I should have climbed 
Arreton Down, only a half hour from the village, from 
which there is said to be a superb view of the sur- 
rounding country. 

Xewport is four miles beyond Arreton. Here we 
stopped to see the inside of the parish church of 
St. Thomas, first erected in 1180, and containing the 
tomb of the Princess Elizabeth. The church (rebuilt 
in 1854) is so modern, that, save for its picturesque 
tower, it would have little architectural interest for a 
traveler. But it does have fine memorials, which were 
shown with enthusiastic courtesy by one of the cur- 
ates. One is the preserved and beautiful Jacobean 
pulpit of 1631, whose Stuart arms and carvings in relief 
are both curious and well wrought. Another is the 
fine alabaster effigy above the tomb of Sir Edward 
Horsew captain of the Isle of Wight from i565-'82. 



AGAIN ON THE ISLE OF WIGHT 359 

The third and chiefest is the spot where were laid the 
remains of the darling daughter of Charles I., who- at 
fourteen years of age gave up her pure, young life that 
she might pass into the glories of the sphere where 
all sorrows are said to flee away in the presence of 
seraphic spirits. Pretty nearly an angel upon earth, 
she died, as she had lived, witli her rich, fair soul feed- 
ing upon the Word of God, for her head was found 
resting on the pages of her father's Bible. This tender 
child died in Carisbrooke Castle on the eighth of Sep- 
tember, 1650, three weeks after being transferred, with 
her young brother, the Duke of Gloucester, to that 
spot so fraught with wretched memories for her fath- 
er, and nineteen months after his execution at White- 
hall. Buried in this church without a memorial, only 
by accident in [793 was the exact place of her inter- 
ment discovered. ( her sixty years more were allowed 
to elapse without a monument, when the good Queen 
Victoria " as a token of respect for her virtues and of 
sympathy for her misfortunes," directed Marochetti to 
make a suitable one at her private expense, and in 
1856 a recumbent figure in marble, in the position in 
which she died, was put in place. Above the figure 
are broken iron bars, to indicate that she died in pris- 
on. It is the most cherished tomb on the Isle of 
Wight. If it be not Marochetti's masterpiece, it has cer- 
tainly added to his fame. The church is in possession 
of other valuable relics of the older edifice: commun- 
ion-plate and alms-boxes of 1635, the baptismal font 
of 1633, and a reading desk of 1670. 

Newport has a business aspect, and would pass 
anywhere as a flourishing place, but, historically, all 
interest in this section centres in Carisbrooke — an old- 
er village by a thousand years, since it dates from the 
First Century — and its almost incomparable Castle. 



360 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

Everybody drives direct to Carisbrooke for a lunch- 
eon, and we did. Under the fine old trees by the 
" Eight Bells " hotel, with plenty of shade and a pro- 
fusion of velvet greensward, we enjoyed things hot 
and cold as ordered, including apple pie and cream, 
which were American-like and palatable. 

I did not learn whether the Carisbrooke church 
was as old as the former parish church at Newport — 
perhaps it is a century or two younger — but its large, 
square tower has a date on it, " 1470," and some of its 
walls, and at least one doorway, are certainly three 
hundred years older. Its pulpit bears date " 1658;" 
its front was made fifty years before. Its position on a 
hill in the town gives it prominence for miles around, 
and from no point does it show to better advantage 
than from the top of the Castle, a mile away. Toward 
that Castle we bent our steps across the brook, be- 
tween the hedges, up the smooth hillside of grass, 
along the narrow and smooth-worn pathway, till we 
attained the summit. I confess I went with even 
more eagerness than on a former visit. I wanted to 
see again that magnificent view from the battlements; 
to look once more on the prison chambers of Charles 
and of Elizabeth; and, hardly least, to see if " Jacob " 
might still be at work on that eternal treadmill, where 
he and his ancestors for three centuries past had been 
pumping water, and where his " tu'penny " earnings 
go to keep the old windlass in repair and to provide 
for the care-taker. Sure enough, " Jacob " was there, 
but alternating his work with " Ned," who is the old- 
er of the two, and whom I did not see on the former 
visit. Every boy of Carisbrooke knows them to be 
as patient and as intelligent a pair of brutes as ever 
were set to a daily task. " Ned " is twenty-three 
years of age and " Jacob " twelve. According to a 



AGAIN ON THE ISLE OF WIGHT 361 

printed notice, thus runs the history of the well and of 
the mechanical features: "Date of well, 1150; of 
wheel. 1588; depth, 16 1 feet; depth of water 30 feet; 
diameter of wheel, 15.6 feet; distance walked by don- 
key in pulling up the buckets, 240 yards." Men are 
hut boys of a larger growth and I took an interest 




The "Jacob " of rqo/. 

even in these measurements, perhaps for the sake of 
those patient donkeys. 

I will not repeat the history of Carisbrooke Castle 
as related elsewhere.* That history is as. imperishable 
as seems to be the fortress itself. What is left of the 
ruins is so well-preserved and is so much a part of the 

* See Chapter XIV. 



362 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

prized treasures of the island, that one can fancy the 
visitor of the year 2901 finding- here the same velvet 
bed of short-cropped grass within its foliage-covered 
walls: the same high, buttressed gateway; the same 
frowning keep, with steep climb of steps to the top; 
the same deep well and windlass, with a descendant of 
"Jacob" to pump the water; the same bars of iron 
between which Charles pushed his unlucky head that 
fateful night of March 28, 1648; the same small, 
square, bare and white-washed room in which Eliza- 
beth breathed her last prayer and fell on sleep. Noth- 
ing about Carisbrooke has changed for two and a-half 
centuries, and why should it for ten centuries to come? 
Alas, I did miss, in 1901, one notable feature of the en- 
trance way, the memory of which on the previous visit 
was vivid, and which must have been commented up- 
on by prisoners of state and of war, and by other vis- 
itors, during the past three centuries since its erection. 
I refer to the ponderous doors of English oak, the 
right hand one containing a wicket, which closed the 
portals of the main entrance. These were of great 
interest, and why they were recently > removed and 
new ones, not nearly so artistic, substituted, I did not 
learn; they were certainly not worn out. 

I have said little of the country through which our 
coach merrily passed, because it was chiefly a series of 
ups and downs, of rich farming lands, of plain and few 
residences of tillers of the soil. But from Carisbrooke 
across to the eastern sea-coast, a drive of ten miles, 
the views were finer, the air more bracing, and con- 
sequently the tension of the part}' higher. Here on 
our right and left were the everlasting hills, high set, 
with light-houses or towers upon them, successors to 
those beacon-lights which, in the earlier ages, lit up 
the sky to signal the approach of the incursive Danes. 



aoain ox the isle of \\k;ii t 



363 



How they carry one hack to those historic days when 
every man was on the watch against the pirates and 
plunderers of the land of Canute! 

The furze was not in blossom, but it and the holly 
associated together and straggled about the fields, or 
made hedges so irregular that it is apparent the wild 



• 










jj 




IP 

\ if 






V .'•> 






•■ 


■ 






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>- 


1 V 








■ —BJ^a 





/'//(• "Magnet" Party Stopping' on the Way. 

winds of winter blow fiercely on these downs, and 
twist the trunks of young trees somewhat as upon the 
Cornish coast. We sang cheerful songs along tin- 
road. How Americans love to sing " Nancy Lee 
and " My Country, "Tis of Thee," and various mix- 
tures of pious and secular songs when out upon a 



364 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND - 

coach-and-four in a foreign land, only those realize 
who have experienced it. It is difficult to keep the 
voice silent, at times. Why should it be silent, as it 
disturbs no one, not even the sheep and the blackbirds 
on their coats? And is it not in harmony with land- 
scape and sunbeam? 1 remember that this time we 
all started the repetitive " Scotland is burning," and 
afterward, "John Brown," with its humorous short- 
stops. And so we dipped the hill past Niton and the 
yew-arched porch of its old-fashioned church; and 
-",.11 were fronting the sea, where we veered round 
short to the left in front of the " t ndcrcliff " 

The " Undercliff " has been spoken of as Palisades. 
It is more o\ a wonder than the precipices of the Hud- 
son. It consists of terraces of marly chalk, which 
have a green-sand foundation, and these chalky rocks- 
have slipped and slid toward the sea, by the infiltration 
of water, so that they are in irregular shapes, and pre- 
sent varying and curious levels. It is almost a geolog- 
ical wonder. What adds to its attraction, aside from 
the deep shadows it throws across the road when the 
afternoon sun hides behind it. is the luxuriant growths 
at its feet. The rocks stand out boldly two hundred 
and fifty feet above the sea, and at their base are gath- 
ered all manner of vegetation, such as grows rank and 
beautiful. Great trees, thick of leaves as in the Brazil- 
ian forest; wild ivy, so heavy as to cover the ground 
from view; shrubs, without name or number; flow- 
ers, tall and fragrant, where the open spaces permit of 
it; and all the while one of the finest public roads in 
the whole kingdom of Great Britain. It is a ride for 
a Queen. And that reminds me that the " Queen's 
Drive." when so called, is usually the plainest and' 
tamest in England, while the best drives are without 
names, or have insignificant nomenclatures. 



a<;ai\ on THE isle OF WIGHT 365 

It had been intended to go to Blackgang Chine, 
which is due west of Niton, but the day was wearing 
away, and we learned that, beside Shanklin, this Chine 
would be disappointing. We spent the time, instead, 
stopping to see " the smallest church in Britain," that 
of St. Lawrence, and nothing of the day's drive repaid 
us better. It had been enlarged during the past cen- 
tury, but the real edifice, as it stood for ages, was only 
twenty by twelve feet. The building is also believed 
to be the oldest church on the island, dating from the 
Twelfth Century. We had to walk up a brief hill to 
reach it, for it is out of sight from the main road, as if 
intentionally hidden away behind the Cliff. No build- 
ing stands near it. It was locked, of course, even the 
gateway of the surrounding stone fence being securely 
fastened. But fences, when not covered with cut glass 
— a too-frequent English practice — are no barriers to 
enthusiastic travellers. We speedily surmounted this 
one, pushed upon and over it several of the ladies, and 
then inspected the interior through the plain but tiny 
windows. It is so small a church as to seem like a 
toy. I counted, I think, about two rows of seats and 
there was a reading desk. It is safe to surmise that 
it would comfortablx seat twenty-four people. I am 
informed that it has contained, standing, over a hun- 
dred persons, but there docs not seem room for such 
a number. Services arc held in it only occasionally. 
A new and handsome church edifice a few hundred 
yards off, upon the main highway, now houses the 
worshipping people of the parish. 

We came back into Yentnor, past the magnificent 
pile of buildings which constitute an asylum for con- 
sumptives, under royal patronage, over the hill by St. 
Catherine's church, with horn blowing and with a 
full sense of contentment with all the world. We had 



366 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

driven only about thirty miles, but had seen much of 
the Isle of Wight, seen it at its best, and it scarcely 
needed the illumination of the public gardens in the 
evening to make us feel captives to a glorious spell. 

As to Ventnor itself, it should be added that I have 
always liked Ventnor exceedingly, and have paid it 
visit after visit for several years in order to drink in 
anew the beauties of the town and its surroundings. 
I have stood before the pretty " Esplanade " hotel — 
an ideal hostelry — when the extraordinary brilliancy 
of the waves rolling in upon the beach at my feet, with 
the ocean stretching out far and wide toward France, 
and the genial air of the hills, made it a pleasure sim- 
ply to live and view such a scene. I have always gone 
in the afternoon on the " L ndercliff " to lie down in 
the grass and enjoy the remarkable ocean prospect. 
I cannot better describe such a half hour upon the 
" Undercliff " than by quoting the unpublished words 
of a gifted lady writer, who was a member of a party 
on one of these visits, and whose knowledge of bird 
and plant-life, as well as of history, is of a superior 
order: " John Sterling spent his last days at Hillside 
cottage and it was good out on the ' Cliff,' to recall 
some of his pure hymns. A more restful spot than 
this ' Cliff ' on the bright Sunday when I visited it. 
could not be imagined. Lying on the sweet sod. with 
the cloudless blue above and the sparkling blue be- 
neath, the intervening space filled with sweet scents 
and roses, where ' smal soules makyn melody.' it was 
quite easy for one to feel content with her own lot and 
at peace with all the world. I could hardly step, much 
less lie down, without crushing the modest daisy be- 
loved by Chaucer and Burns, and many another flow- 
er beside, that remains unsung, including the tiny yel- 
low clover and the bind-weed. The bind-weed here 



AGAIN ON THE ISLE OF WIGHT 367 

creeps into the grass and is much more delicate than 
ours, having a corolla not over an inch in diameter. 
I afterwards asked a little maiden, whom I met in a 
lane down in Cornwall, what she called the flower, and 
she answered very softly, ' Umbrellas.' Here, as al- 
ways on the coast, the flowers are vividly colored, the 
yellow seeming especially to abound. Among the new 
species, it was pleasant to recognize familiar ones, the 
dandalions, the sonchus, the brunclla and the potentil- 
la. High up on the cliff I found a comfortable nook 
near a tangle of the pink wild rose, blackberry blos- 
soms, elder and bedstraw, where a pair of stonechats 
attracted me. They were flitting back and forth with 
food in their beaks, too much engrossed with parental 
cares and anxieties to sing much. Nor was I favored 
with any music from the blackbirds that flew down 
from the top of the ' Cliff,' occasionally, and searched 
for food in the grass. The English ' blackbird ' is a 
thrush and has all the characteristics of our robin 
in air and gait, and manner of picking up his food. He 
has, too, a yellow bill, but that is his sole bit of color. 
The bird that did sing, however, was the yellowham- 
mer and I grew 7 very fond of his simple strain as I 
afterward heard it almost continuously driving along 
the hedges in Cornwall and Devonshire. It consists 
of a few rapid notes, pitched rather high, followed by 
a long, lower note. This bird, by the way, bears no 
relation to our bird of that name, the well-known 
woodpecker. The English yellow hammer is a finch 
about the size of our song-sparrow. Other birds came 
and went, among them the chaffinch and the cole-tit- 
mouse, the latter much like our chickadee, but having, 
beside other distinguishing marks, a line of gray at 
the back of his black cap. From the top of the ' Cliff ' 
a fine view 7 stretches east and west, including Ventnor 



368 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



and Steephill Castle, the latter a modern structure 
suggesting feudal days." 





Lake Windermere. 



XXIV.— THE ENGLISH LAKES : WORDSWORTH- 
LAND. 

WHETHER tor natural beauties, or for long- 
continued, healthful, inspiring associations 
with the sweetest and best coterie of modern 
English poets, the Lake District outranks all other 
parts of Britain. I have coached in it again and again, 
up hill and down dale, over blackest passes and 
through fairest glens, in lights and in shades, amid 
darkest storm and in brightest sunshine, in the 
early morning and at the sunsetting, and it has 
always awakened sublime emotions and created 
undreamed-of joys. An enthusiastic traveler, when 
Nature is doing the wooing, 1 am doubly enthu- 
siastic when the spirits of great men and wom- 
en are hovering near. Loneliness there is to the 
full if one goes through the upper fells without com- 
panionship, and with no sense of those high-minded 
souls who have been there before, and left on printed 
pages the lessons they found in crag and tarn, in ey- 
rie and heather, in lichen, moss and silvery stream, 

24 



370 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

in beech and oak, in butterwort, juniper, and foxglove. 
But how can one go through Wordsworth-land so? 
Who can read that poet's innumerable auto-biograph- 
ical sonnets and odes, his elegiac verses and his tri- 
butes to flowers and woods, and not feel the roseate 
flush of a new dawn cast over his pathway as he visits 
Grasmere and Rydal Water? 

Yet it is not alone Wordsworth who has made the 
Lake country immortal. Southey and Gray, the Col- 
eridges and De Quincey, Carlyle and Bronte, Arnold 
and Scott, Davy and Wilkinson, Martineau and Fa- 
ber, Shelley and Keats, Wilson and Smith, Lamb and 
Clarkson, Quillinan and Canning, Dean Stanley and 
Rosetti, and — perhaps higher seers still — Tennyson 
and Ruskin, have breathed this air, and in song or 
story have told the world of this lovable land, within 
whose gates they have exclaimed with the bard of 
Rydal Mount: 

" Each moment lovelier than before." 

Each has lived and revelled here in a 

"genial hour, 
When universal nature breathed 
As with the breath of one sweet flower, — 
.n time to over-rule the power 
Of discontent." 

Of Americans Emerson, Holmes and Hawthorne have 
had most delightful hours looking upon these beauty- 
spots and the latter's diary has many a page devoted 
to Windermere, Grasmere and Derwent. 

For convenience and for the truth of history also, 
let us think of the Lake District as embracing Words- 
worth-land, Southey-land, and Ruskin-land. 

Wordsworth-land is really the whole of the Lake 
country. Not a square mile of it but was familiar to 



ENGLISH LAKES: WORDSWORTH-LAND 371 

his eye and ' warming to the cockles of his heart.' But 
the most of his years was spent in the vicinity of ( iras- 
mere and Windermere, so that, by common consent, 
those places are chiefly associated with Ins memory 
and that of his loving sister, Dorothy. Southey re- 
sided for over forty years, and at last died, at ' ireta 
Hall, within view of Keswick. The northern portion of 
the Lake region is, therefore, quite properl) Southey- 
land. Ruskin's home was at Brantwood, on the Con- 
iston Water, from 1871 to his death; and so that part 
of the " land of water and of storms " may be termed 
Ruskin-land. In their order, let us visit these, remem- 
bering that while one may coach over the charmingly- 
made roads, he must turn aside into the narrow, well- 
worn paths, on foot, if he would see the full 

" sweep of endless woods, 
Blue pomp of lakes, high cliffs, and falling floods." 

The true gate-way to Wordsworth-land is by Lake 
Windermere. The man in a hurry will doubtless keep 
on the train going north to Oxenholme and the town 
of Windermere, but he misses a fine threshold of glor- 
ious opalescence if he does not make his final station 
Lakeside, and there take boat to traverse the eight 
miles of water between it and Bowness. Windermere 
is at once the largest and best known of all the various 
lakes of this district. From it there are unusually fine 
views in the background of high mountains, of which, 
from this point, Helvellyn is king. Lakeside is at- 
tractive, but that is not in the mountains, so we must 
go on farther if we would reach our true goal. In 
this way gradually, as we go up the lake. Black Holme 
Isle is passed, and then we see, on the right, Storrs 
Hall, now a hotel, where during the first quarter of 
the last century Sir Walter Scott spent some of his 



37- 



BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 



happy Lake days. " Here is this beautiful lake," said 
he, in one of his letters to a friend, written from this 
Hall, " lying before me, as still as a mirror, reflecting' 
all the hills and streams as distinctly as if they were 
drawn on its surface with a pencil." There was a mem- 




John Wilson (" Christopher North."") 

orable meeting at this place at one time (1825) be- 
tween Scott, Wordsworth, Canning, (the Parliamen- 
tary leader), Lockhart, (Scott's son-in-law and bio- 
grapher) and Wilson (" Christopher North ") the occa- 
sion being a celebration cf the event of Scott's visit. 
Wilson brought the meeting about; his home was at 



ENGLISH LAKES: WORDSWORTH-LAND 273 

Birthwaite and Wordsworth's not much farther away. 
All the rowing boats of the lake, perhaps thirty in num- 
ber — to-day we should see hundreds instead — wen- 
out with flying colors. For three hours and more 
they rowed around the island on a summer's after- 
noon, the spectators firing cannon from the shore and 
the wit of the various authors scintillating like the 
lake's sparkling waters. There were " gay flashings 
of courtly wit." said Lockhart, and this Boswell to 
Scott rarely made a mistake in jotting down his recol- 
lections. For some days these regattas were contin- 
ued, and there were tramps through the surrounding, 
delicious woods in the mornings, and music, gay ban- 
quets and bright anecdotes during the afternoons and 
evenings. I cannot pass Storrs Hall without doffing' 
my hat to the shades of this quartette of great minds, 
who made Windermere a festival spot that August- 
week, seventy-six years ago. 

Xow we see Iviabb Scar to the north, Coniston Old 
Alan to the west and Orrest Head to the East, and 
there lies the pretty town of Bowness at the right. A 
charming spot; the cream of the resting places on 
Windermere for the traveler just initiating himself in- 
to its beauties. Hawthorne spent some happy days at 
Bowness. There are plenty of rambles hereabouts: 
none better than the ten-mile walk to and from 
Hawkshead and Esthwaite Water. The former is the 
market-town, where Wordsworth went to the gram- 
mar school of Archbishop Sandys, founded in t 585 ; 
the latter was the scene in his " Prelude " of skating 
by moonlight. But, to-day, let us walk or drive up 
the old town of Birthwaite, (as it once was, Winder- 
mere as it is,) one and one-half miles distant, and there 
take coaeh for Ambleside and Grasmere. It will prove 



374 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

the best introductory ride in the whole region, for 
every foot of it will pass through enchanted ground. 

The first time I coached over this way was in the 
long evening twilight of a July day. At that hour, per- 
fect peace and sweet tranquility brooded over Orrest 
Mead and the surrounding lulls. Even the village it- 
self, save near the railway station, was as quiet as on 
a Sunday. Elleray, where the editor of " Black- 
wood " lived in his last years — and who ever thinks 
of " North " without remembering his bitter reviews, 
almost deadly in their results to some men of genius 
more divinely gifted than he? — was rich to the eye, 
though the old structure had been mostly pulled down 
to make a new one. The parish church and many oth- 
er buildings were swathed in myrtles and similar 
creepers, and tit-bits of ends of cottages and turrets 
of richly-built mansions peeped out from the woods 
on every hand. Soon the lake appeared, glassy like a 
Persian mirror. Every corner of the roadway was a 
bower of vines. Each stone fence was a forecast of 
the taste of the landowner, for it is finished to perfec- 
tion and garmented with mosses, or with ivy. In all 
the landscape there was nothing in the evening light 
that seemed to be angular, but each hill, every pasture 
field, each tree, every mountain summit, far or near, 
was smoothed down, toned down, to the exact finish 
of precise art. The wonder is not more that Nature 
here has been so prodigal of her charms as that Man 
has done so much to give those charms fit settings 
and polishings. As the road was pursued toward Am- 
bleside it became apparent that no road-bed in the 
wide world could be better; it was absolutely smooth 
and as hard as granite. 

Briery Close was not to be seen from the road, as 
I recollect, but it was on the right hand beyond a bit 



ENGLISH LAKES: WORDSWORTH-LAND 375 

of woodland, a little to the south of Ambleside. There 
was a gate opening to the way leading to it. There 
lived Sir James Kay-Shuttleworth, and it is the spot 
to which Charlotte Bronte came in 1850, and where 
she met .Mrs. Gaskell, whose "Life" of that York- 
shire poet is such interesting reading. Surely she did 
m a enter Briery Close without sadness that she was 
too late in this, her delayed visit to the Lakes, to see 
Southey, whose memorable letters of welcome to that 
region, and of praise for her early genius, had so en- 
nobled her aims: or Wordsworth, whose poems had 
been long her food; and to see with her own eyes the 
antithesis of Yorkshire, the " glorious region " of the 
Lakes, of which she wrote she " had only seen the 
similitude in dreams, waking or sleeping." 

Somewhere in this vicinity, between the lake and 
W'ansfell, there lived for a little time Felicia Hemans. 
She was there in 1830 to visit Wordsworth. She sang 
repeatedly of Italy and other lands, but, true English- 
woman, she never ceased to love her native soil. Who 
does not remember well her description of " The 
Homes of England," beginning: 

"'ihe stately homes of England! 

How beautiful they stand, 
Amidst their tall ancestral trees, 

O'er all the pleasant land! 
The deer across their greensward bound, 

Through shade and sunny gleam; 
And the swan glides past them with the sound 

Of some rejoicing stream." 

And now we crossed the bridge over the stream 
called the Rotha, the same up which one ascends a 
few miles more to Grasmere, for it connects the two 
lakes. Beside it, in a " green-mantled cottage," lived 
Frederick W. Faber, poet of sacred songs, preacher of 
eloquence, brilliant talker. Little read as are his oth- 



3 y6 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

er works, his hymns are sung to-day in almost every 
church in Christendom. He left this house in 
1840, but, before leaving, was the well-known choir- 
master of the parish church of Ambleside, and also a 
ministering angel of sweetness and light both in kirk 
and in home. Brathay Hall lies over the valley to the 
left, near the head of Lake Windermere, where the 
Hardens lived, and where " Christopher North " ob- 
tained his bride. Jane Penny. 

Ambleside I found to be a busy spot. The traffic 
in souvenirs and in travelers goes on, unceasing, night 
and day. It is a good place at which to water the 
horses, and an excellent point at which to make excur- 
sions; but those of quiet mind and serious turn would 
not be contented to remain here long. It is too busy 
and too noisy. It could not have been so when Miss 
Fenwick, Wordsworth's invalid friend, and the friend 
of Henry Crabbe Robinson and other men of talent, 
found in her home an oasis from worldly struggles. 
The only other house in Ambleside which one might 
care to pause to see, is the residence, now, of William 
Henry Hills, a useful man, who by his influence is 
preserving with fidelity the heritage of the Lakes as 
a place of restfulness, and by his jealous care of the 
" Knoll," is keeping guard over the mansion that Har- 
riet Martineau built and for thirty years called her 
own. Miss Martineau died a quarter-century ago; 
whatever light she saw, or saw not, this is what she 
placed upon the sun-dial still standing in her garden: 
"Come, Light, visit me!" Reformer, historian, nov- 
elist, author of winning tales for children, from this 
pulpit she preached to a parish as wide as the world. 
Here came to sit at her feet sages and geniuses. Char- 
lotte Bronte was there to see her and said: " I believe 
she almost rules Ambleside," and she was right. Miss 



ENGLISH LAKES: WORDSWORTH-LAND 377 




378 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

Martineau was a monument of industry, a pattern of 
dignified austerity, and a great power in English poli- 
tics and philosophy for over forty years. 

Humphrey Davy lived at Lesketh How, and here 
it is, I think, whence one gets his best view (across the 
valley) of Fox How, at the foot of Loughrigg Fell, 
home of Dr. Arnold, headmaster of Rugby, and where 
his boys, Edward, Thomas and William were born.* 
I have since gone by it on a bicycle, by taking leave of 
the road to ( hasmere a little above Lesketh How, and 
then following the private road way down toward the 
river Brathay. What a pretty way that is! The road 
is crossed everywhere with the shadows of lordly trees, 
and there is absolute freedom from passers-by. The 
river flows along, rippling in echoes of spring laugh- 
ter, though when I saw it the spring had passed. I 
saw blackbirds in the lower meadows, sheep in the 
meadow pastures, harvests in the wheatfields. Fox 
How had a hundred fine old fir-trees, which disap- 
peared in a gale in 1893, but it has many a birch and 
Scotch fir left. The house of 1833 stands now, as 
when first built, stalwart, majestic, though softened in- 
to lovely groups of bowers and by small and large 
windows overhung with vines and roses. Dean Stan- 
ley brought his bride to Fox How when he was 
wedded in 1863. Matthew Arnold and Arthur Clough 
— Tennyson's dear friend — fished and swam in even- 
pool in this vicinity. " Matthew has gone out fishing 
when he ought properly to be working," wrote Clough 
of his youthful companion in 1844. 

But to the main road again. Nightfall was on us. 
I could just discern Kydal Park — once a park of deer 
— and Rydal Hall on the right, the seat of the Le 



For view of it, see Chapter XXVI. 



ENGLISH LAKES: WORDSWORTH-LAND 



379 



Flemings. Then a road ran up hill, with a church in 
the foreground and Rydal Fell high above it. He; 
old trees on either side nearly cut off the view. I could 




^TrfiTj 



Wordsworth. 



barely see the tops of a chimney or two among the tall 

ash and pine-. In broad daylight some of the house 

visible. Of course we all dismounted from the 

coach, though we knew the gathering dusk would for- 



380 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

bid sharpness of outline for any sight, and walked! 
three or four hundred yards to Rydal Mount, the last 
home of Wordsworth, the last home of Dorothy. For 
seven and thirty years the poet, who had earned his 
laurels at Grasmere, wore his crown on this small hill. 
The owner of the property does not welcome visitors,, 
especially of the tourist sort. He bars the gate to- 
strangers. One cannot quarrel with him, for he owns 
the property. In the daylight one can see fairly welt 
the front of the rather plain, yet substantial mansion, 
and its situation is, on the whole, commanding. It is. 
just far enough back from the road to be off from the 
noise of travel. It has a grand background of Xabb 
Scar, and, nearer, abundant foliage. I suspect, ere the 
trees in front were so large, it had from its southerly 
windows beautiful glimpses of Rydal Water and of 
Loughrigg Fell, and even now a portion of Winder- 
mere is always in view. Emerson was here in 1833, 
having just visited Carlisle in Scotland, and in his 
" English Traits " tells of the visit out on the terrace 
path. Wordsworth read aloud to him some sonnets 
on Fingal's Cave, reciting them " like a schoolboy."" 
The poet died in this house in 1850, aged four score 
years, and Dorothy in 1855, aged eighty-three. A 
more devoted brother and sister never lived, not ex- 
cepting Charles and Mary Lamb. 

Very close to the road which leads up to Royal 
Mount is Glen Rothay, (Ivy Cottage, formerly called), 
where Wordsworth's son-in-law, Quillinan, lived; and 
then comes Nab Cottage, where Hartley Coleridge 
brightest shadow of what might have been, spent the 
years 1837-1849, thirteen of the last years of his life. 
Hartley was a real genius, but he deliberately blasted 1 
his future for the sake of the drink habit, and died at 
fifty-three in what he himself described as " the woe- 



ENGLISH LAKES: WORDSWORTH-LAND 381 




382 BRIGHT KAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

ful impotence of weak resolves." It was at Nab Cot- 
tage where De Quincey found his wife, Margaret 
Simpson, in 1816. Every point from here to Gras- 
mere, which is only two miles away, is impressed with 
the memory of Wordsworth and Coleridge, and, as 
we swing around the last corner and skirt Grasmere 
Lake, there is a sense of relief that at last we have 
come into the very heart of the country sacred to many 
of the sweetest and noblest natures that ever flowered 
out into human speech. 

Grasmere Lake is round, only one mile in diame- 
ter, and lovingly lies in the lap of bare, but splendid 
hills. It is easy to declare it is the " gem " of the 
lakes, and yet, as each sheet of water in the Lake 
region has its own peculiar beauties, comparisons are 
scarcely just. I am especially fond of Grasmere be- 
cause of its own inherent charms; its central loca- 
tion in the Lake District; its nearness to those hills 
and fells of Westmoreland, which are so packed with 
interesting associations; and last, not least, because 
of its two charming hotels, the " Prince of Wales " 
(formerly " Brown's ") and the " Rothay." Both these 
hotels are under the management of a wide-awake and 
most courteous gentleman, Mr. Cowpertrrwaite, to 
know whom is to fasten one to Grasmere by a special 
tie. I like most the situation, the homelikeness 
and the quiet of the " Prince of Wales," and know of 
no hotel in the whole of England more likely to give 
satisfaction to those who care less for the rush and 

g push of the incoming and outgoing tourists and the 
babel of noise than for the unadulterated serenity of a 
well-kept haven of repose. At Ambleside, or at Kes- 
wick, there are jostling and busy parties arriving 

^ hourly and all is hurly-burly and confusion. But at 
the edge of Grasmere, within cannon range of Helvel- 



ENGLISH LAKES: WORDSWORTH-LAND 383 

lyn, one is so close to Nature that she is just like the 
heart of your best friend, " tender and true." The lit- 
tle island in the centre of the lake is the only interrup- 
tion to the open water, but it adds a charm to the 
scene, which is one of absolute stillness. You can take 
your little boat and run out to that island, and from 
that point, perhaps, the landscape is the most gentle 
and pleasing, but it is all sweetly beautiful. Of grand- 
eur there is none, but the word " loveliness " exactly 
expresses it. The lawn of the " Prince of Wales," 
with its copper beech and other fine trees, is perfect. 
I remember waking one morning, after a late arrival 
at the hotel, and discovering that my room looked out 
upon this lawn and the lake beyond, and it was, I 
thought, the nearest approach to Paradise I had ever 
enjoyed. In fine weather a Sunday at this spot is the 
acme of privilege. 

The best panorama of Grasmere is from Red Bank, 
the point of observation being not quite up to the sum- 
mit of Loughrigg Fell. It is reached by the road, 
which goes first through Grasmere village and then 
around the lake, and ascends the hill southwesterly to- 
ward Coniston. The charm of that point has never 
failed me. Here, if anywhere, you think of Professor 
Hoppin's declaration, that Grasmere " could not have 
been named anything else," because its grassy mar- 
gin is everywhere visible, " spreading out into dark 
green meadows and climbing up almost to the sum- 
mits of the bold cliffs that curl their edges over this 
vale." Helm Crag behind, like " a Roman soldier's 
nodding crest," guards the amphitheatre with splendid 
dignity, and the lofty hills encircling the valley every- 
where, with the glassy lake and its one island in the 
centre, all completely isolated from the outer world, 



384 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

make the scene one to cause the heart to leap for joy 
that God has fashioned a shrine so beautiful. 

There is a " Wishing Gate " about a mile from the 
hotel, to which an early morning- walk is commended, 
and which is in the same spot as that which made the 
subject of one of Wordsworth's poems. The old gate 
became so moss-grown that it was removed, but the 
new is already covered with many initials of visitors. 

" Even the stranger from atar. 
Reclining on this moss-grown bar, 

Unknowing and unknown, 
ihe infection of the ground partakes, 
Longing for his Beloved, who makes 

All happiness her own." 

Notwithstanding all the wishes made over the old 
and the present gate are not fulfilled, who shall say 
that the many are not answered? There are other ex- 
cursions, almost without number, to be made from 
( h-asmere, to huge rocks, to terraces, to tarns, to fells, 
to mountain tops. The local guide-book will tell of 
them all, and will declare that it is twelve miles to the 
summit of Helvellyn and return; twenty-four miles 
to Conistonwater and return; thirteen miles to Kes- 
Avick; fifteen miles to make the circuit of Lake Thirl- 
mere. No distances for ordinary day-journeys are 
great from Grasmere. 

But let us mount coaches again at the " Prince of 
Wales " for Grasmere village. Or, why not walk it 
and be overtaken at the church? For it is only a few 
hundred yards from the hotel to Dove Cottage, which 
is on the way just back of the main road. To Dove 
Cottage, which is now the property of the nation, and 
so will be preserved for all time, Wordsworth and his 
sister came in December, 1799, — 

" To this lovely cottage in its garden nook 
Whose very flowers are sacred to the poor." 



ENGLISH LAKES: \V« >i;i>S\VORTU-LA \ I I 



38= 



l "mil Maw 1808, the two enjoyed this home with all 
the ardor of their refined and enthusiastic natures. 
Here the poet wrote some of his best songs, to birds, 
to tarns, to Mowers, to the peaks, and in them played 
upon all the varied strings of the human heart. His 
"Ode on the Intimations of Immortality," his " Pre- 
lude." and his second volume of "' Lyrical Ballads," 
were born in Dove Cottage, or while he sat on some 




'ottage. 



stone, or under some shady oak, within an hour's walk 
away. Here he had notable guests — Coleridge, 
Southey, Sir Walter Scott, Charles Lamb. De Quin- 
cey came to the house a year after Wordsworth left it 
for Allan Bank, and then (1809) became the tenant of 
Dove, and remained there for seven and twenty years. 
In this house he was an opium-eater, and here he 
touched all the depths of despair and some heights of 

25 



386 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

joy. In his "Reminiscences" he says: *' I was to 
succeed the illustrious tenant, Wordsworth, who had 
in my mind hallowed the rooms." " Cottage, immor- 
tal in my remembrance; . . . this was the scene 
of struggle, the most tempestuous and bitter within 
my own mind; this the scene of my despondency and 
unhappiness; this the scene of my happiness." The 
rooms, the windows and all the surroundings have 
been restored, as nearly as may be, to their former 
conditions. Here are Wordsworth's bed-room, and 
Dorothy's, and the room wherein Scott slept. Here 
are the drawing-room and library, and, of course, the 
kitchen. While the house deserves its attention, I like 
the garden behind it better; it is an " uphill " garden, 
and if sometimes the Monday wash must have been 
hung out on the grass to dry. we may be sure there 
were more occasions when the brother and sister, 
alone or together, sat in the little arbor, bowered with 
flowers, and talked and wrote, or amused and medi- 
tated, far into the evening twilight. Here he wrote: 

"Ihis plot of orchard ground is ours, 
My trees they are, my sister's flowers." 

There is quite a little settlement about Dove Cottage, 
called now, as it was early in the last Century, " Town 
End." 

It is a mile further to the village proper. For- 
merly, as now, the coach road to Keswick kept to the 
east, and passed, not Grasmere church, but the 
" Swan Inn," which was a meeting-place for the Lake 
poets, and especially a resort of Scott. Quite near this 
inn is Allan Bank, the house where Wordsworth lived 
from 1808 to 181 t, when he made his last removal to 
Rydal Mount. Dr. .Arnold resided in it during the 
summers of [832 and 1833. Grasmere church is thor- 



ENGLISH LAKES: WORDSWORTH-LAND 387 




388 BEIGI1T DAYS IN MEHRIE ENGLAND 

oughly quaint within. Its massive pillars and naked 
rafters are unique even for a country where curious 
architecture abounds. " St. Oswald," as it is called, 
was constructed no one seems to know when, and if it 
has been changed, except, perhaps, to be lengthened, 
there are no apparent signs of it. 

" Not raised in nice proportions was the pile, 
But large and massy; for duration built; 
With pillars crowded, and the roof upheld 
By naked rafters, intricately crossed, 
Like leafless underboughs, in some thick wood." 

Wordsworth's pew is here — not the large one some- 
times pointed out — and there he must have sat, hun- 
dreds of Sabbath mornings, to listen to dull sermons, 
but lost in religious thought. Back of it is a tablet 
to his memory. This sanctuary must have been, ere 
the present village had gathered around it, like a haven 
of refuge from the storms of life. The rushing Rothay, 
clear as crystal, flows by its open door, and the adja- 
cent graveyard only adds to the solemn tenderness of 
the scene. This yard contains at least five tombstones 
which are looked upon daily by scores, often by hun- 
dreds, of curious, appreciative and unappreciative eyes: 
to Arthur Clough, on whose tomb are lines Tennyson 
wrote for his dead friend; to Edward Quillinan; to 
Hartley Coleridge, on whose stone is that sadly pitiful 
prayer for help to the weak, " By thy Cross and Pas- 
sion;" to Dorothy Wordsworth, and to William 
Wordsworth. There is another buried there, of whom 
little has been written, William Green, a true poet 
of Nature, who died in 1823, and whose epitaph 
Wordsworth himself composed. 

Grasmere as a village straggles along the road-way 
for a half mile, and the most that can be said of it is 
that it is restful and dtdl, as such villages in moral 



ENGLISH LAKES: WORDSWORTH-LAND 389 

localities are. But its buildings arc all fresh-looking 
and up-to-date. The gray stone used in them, without 
visible mortar, are the most attractive of any building 
stone in the world — so I have always thought — and 
they house an intelligent and happy people. 





Southey's Monument. 



XXV.— THE ENGLISH LAKES : SOUTHEY-LAND. 



SOUTHEY was associated with Keswick from 
[803 to 1843, > n which latter year he died. Cole- 
ridge resided in the same house before him, from 
1800 to 1803, and then lived with him a year or so, 
when he went t<> Malta for a couple of years, returning 
to Keswick in 1806, hut not remaining there long af- 
ter. The house was called ( ireta Hall, and it stands to- 
day, a short mile out of Keswick, the same in all essen- 
tials as it was a century ago. ( )f the two men, Southey 
was the finer gentleman, if not truer poet, and the 
sweeter character. Canon Kawnsley refers eloquently 
to him as " this knightly, this true brotherly and fath- 
erly man — this gentleman, head and shoulders above 
the literati of his day in pure unworldliness and sim- 
ple-minded honesty;" and again as " this lofty scholar, 
this humble, child-like doer of each day's work to the 
full reach of his power; this encyclopaedia of learning- 
this grave thinker; this poet of his time." He could 
write prose even more forcibly than verse, but whether 
as writer of prose or poetry he was, above all else, 
everv inch a man! For this reason one likes to think 



ENGLISH LAKES: SOUTHEY-LAND 39 i 




392 BRIGHT DAYS IN MEKRIE ENGLAND 

of the Keswick region as Southey-land, though he did 
little in his published writings to make the beauties of 
the valley known to his fellow-men. His library was 
his study-chamber rather than the rocks and water- 
edges as in Wordsworth's case. 

To reach Keswick from Grasmere the coach passes 
Lake Thirlmere and the Vale of St. John. The old 
road is to the east of Thirlmere, the new road to the 
west. The new road has been constructed much less 
than a decade and it is the most attractive of the two. 
I advise that it be taken from Grasmere in preference 
to the old, first detouring enough to see the frag- 
ments of the " Rock of Names." The new road 
divides from the old near Wythburn, about four miles 
north of Grasmere, after one has made the ascent of 
the long hill of Dunmail Raise, and gained the near- 
est approach by public road to Helvellyn. In 1805 
Helvellyn was ascended by Wordsworth, Sir Walter 
Scott and Humphrey Davy, and we have a most in- 
teresting account of it preserved for us in their letters 
and diaries of that time. It is three thousand, one 
hundred and eighteen feet high, and, while only a little 
less lofty than Skiddaw, I am told it is easier of ascent 
and its views usually more satisfying. The photo- 
graphs of Striding Edge, as examples of the " savage 
wilderness of Helvellyn's height," are certainly among 
the finest that have ever been shown of any mountain 
summit, embracing a memorable view of Grasmere 
and Thirlmere valleys and their backgrounds of hills. 
On Dunmael Raise, Gray, the poet, stood on October 
8th, T769, when he came to this region and first sur- 
veyed the exquisite scene. His figurative description 
of it is quaint, beginning: " The bosom of the moun- 
tains spreading here into a broad basin discovers in 
the midst Grasmere; its margin is hollowed into 



ENGLISH LAKES: SOUTIIEY-LAXD 393 

small hays; with eminences, some of them rocks, some 
of soft turf, that half conceal and vary the figure of 
the little lake they command." We descend from here 
to Wythburn, but only a trifle, as Lake Thirlmere, 
which begins near that hamlet, is three hundred and 
twenty-five feet higher than Grasmere. Here branch 
off the two roads. The old one must be centuries old. 
It is the one over which Wordsworth from the south, 
and Coleridge, (and, later, Southey), from the north, 
walked many and many a year to meet and greet each 
other, and exchange high-born thoughts. Keats was 
at Wythburn in 1818, and he wrote of sleeping at the 
foot of Helvellyn, " but could not ascend it for the 
mist." There is now a wayside stone newly erected to 
the memory of Matthew Arnold, and then comes the 
cairn, containing the fragments of that " Rock of 
Names," which is the main feature of the east Thirl- 
mere road. This " Rock of Names " was a huge stone 
on which Wordsworth, his affianced bride, (Mary 
Hutchinson), his sister Dorothy, and Coleridge cut 
deep their initials in 1800; letters 

" That once seemed only to express 
Love that was love in idleness." 

Other initials are also on the same stone. The Man- 
chester Corporation having purchased Lake Thirl- 
mere and joined it to that city by a pipe eighty miles 
long, in order to use its pure water, it was necessary 
to raise the lake by a dam. In doing this the " Rock 
of Names " and a part of the old roadway were sub- 
merged. Then some fragments of the rock were set up 
in a cairn, constructed higher on the hillside for its 
permanent preservation. All views of Thirlmere are 
pretty, but aside from these views it is rather a tame 
ride on this east road to Castle Rigg. which brings us 



394 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

in sight of Keswick. On the new road, however, the 
views gr< iw better and better as the curves are passed, 
one by one, and when at last High Seat and Bleaberry 
Fell are overhanging at onr left, there is a culminating 
scene of a great deal of grandeur. One cannot pass 
Thirlmere without remembering Faber's sad lines 
upon it and its vicinity, on the occasion of one of his 
later visits: 

" I have been here before, you scarce can teil 
The outline of the hills; 
The light is changed — another voice doth swel. 
In these wild-sounding rills. 

"" I have been here before, in sun and shade; 
A blythe green place it seemed; 
Here have I talked with friends, sweet songs have made, 
And lovely tilings have dreamed. 

" And I have ridden to the lake this day 
With more than common gladness; 
But hill and flood upon me strangely weigh 
With new and fearful sadness." 

The pass of the Vale of St. John is guarded by Castle 
Rock, of which Scott made a fairy castle in his "Bri- 
dal of Triermain." It is difficult to climb, but the task 
repays the climber. From Castle Rigg. when Der- 
wentwater and Keswick and all the surrounding valley 
and woods burst into view, there is spread out a land- 
scape not inferior to any to be witnessed in the whole 
of England. From this point, as the coach goes down 
hill toward Keswick, there are always exclamations 
of delight from every traveler. It must be seen to be 
admired and then it will be loved forever. 

Keswick is the busiest place in the whole Lake 
District, but chiefly because it is the starting or end- 
ing point of so many coach roads, and is also on the 
branch railway from Penrith. Its leading: attractions 



ENGLISH LAKES: SOUTHEY-LAND 



395 




BRIGHT DAYS IN MEREIE ENGLAND 

are its landscape and waterscape surroundings. It is 
on the banks of the Greta, and Derwent and Bassen- 
thwaite waters are within view from an}- adjoining hill, 
Derwentwater is scarce a half mile distant ; Bassen- 
thwaite less than three miles. The latter is rather tame. 
Derwent is far more beautiful; it is a jewel. Some 
think it the very finest of all the " waters." Bassen- 
thwaite is four miles long, Derwent three. None of the 
English lakes compare in size with what we call lakes 
in America, but how much richer they are in associa- 
tions and in settings. 

The first proper thing to do on reaching Kes wick- 
is to walk to Greta Hall and also to see Crosthwaite 
church. I should not call it over a half-mile to either 
place. Greta Hall was built in 1800 by a Air. Jackson, 
" yeoman," who took in Coleridge as part tenant, and, 
because of his love for Coleridge's brains, refused to 
charge his tenant any rent. The author had already 
published the " Ancient Mariner " and part of " Chris- 
tabel," and was, at the age of twenty-eight, in his prime 
and full of poetic fire. From Greta Hall — " great 
hall," and a lofty and wide house it was — he could see 
both lakes and Skiddaw, and even the Falls of Lodore 
were visible from his front door. His hair was " black 
and glossy as the raven's," and he was a man to at- 
tract attention in any place. De Ouincey, Lamb and 
Wordsworth here sought him out, and here he ought 
to have remained, where he could do his best, and 
where every prospect was ennobling. But Southey 
came to visit him, and soon Coleridge, real philoso- 
pher and lofty thinker, complaining of rheumatism, 
was off to Malta, while Southey kept permanently the 
Hall. Coleridge lived afterward at London, Hammer- 
smith and Highgate, went through the opium habit 
and reformed, and finallv died in 1834; and so there 



ENGLISH LAKES: SOI THEY-LAND 397 

was extinguished a bright but erratic star. Southey, 
who loved children and everybody, and had no faults 
but those incident to goodness, lived nine years longer 
than Coleridge, and in caring for the latter's family 
proved his friendship to be such as the world rarely 
sees. Southey, of course, was always on Sunday at 
Crosthwaite church, and there John Ruskin, in 1831, 
when but a lad of thirteen, first saw him, as one of his 
childish squibs relates: 

" Now hurried we home, and while taking our tea 
We thought — Mr. Southey at church we might see! 
Next morning, the church how we wished to be reaching! 
I'm afraid 'twas as much for the poet as preaching!" 

The old Crosthwaite church is supposed to have 
been founded in the Sixth Century, (553) and was 
named after St. Kentigern. It is a fine example of 
noble plainness inside and out. Southey's monument 
within its walls is a recumbent figure in white marble, 
set on a pedestal brought from Normandy, and cost 
£1,100, wholly raised by private subscription. South- 
ey's grave, where he was laid on a cold day in the 
month of March, (when Wordsworth, seventy-three 
years of age, came sixteen miles or more to the funeral 
as chief literary mourner), is in the churchyard, near 
the north side of the church tower; a place he himself 
selected. His family pew in the edifice was on the 
right hand side by the chancel entrance. Though 
restored in 1844 the church is deserving of a visit inde- 
pendently of its famous death-tenant. 

The only coaching trip I have taken to Keswick 
away from the direction of Grasmere is that by Bor- 
rowdale, Honister Pass, Buttermere and the Newlands, 
a twenty-three mile drive, supposed to be the best in 
the district. Unfortunatelv, I have done it but once, 



398 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

(the present year), and then amid a thorough Eng 
rain. It poured for much of the journey in torrents. 
But I can conceive how in fine weather it must be a 
noble drive. In order to take it, I remained at the 
" Borrowdale " hotel, near the Derwent, over two 
nights. A remarkably comfortable hotel I found that 
to be; none better for quiet and warm hospitality. 
During the intervening day the rain, which had fol- 
lowed us from Scotland, continued, though the morn- 
ing opened up with some signs of clearing. Our own 
small party, numbering just enough for a large private 
coach without the driver, was one too many with that 
necessary individual, and so I decided to remain be- 
hind. They went on and repented at leisure. I found 
opportunity to board another passing coach later, after 
first visiting on foot the Falls of Lodore, and also re- 
pented; yet, as no harm came to any one, we all really 
had an experience worth possessing. For we saw some 
of the scenery, our eyes took in a portion of Butter- 
mere, and we discovered how interminally long and 
wonderfully steep are some of the Cumberland hills. 
It is a safe plan in England never to attempt a drive 
by carriage, much less by a heavy coach, without 
first minutely inquiring how many miles you are ex- 
pected to walk, and then to be prepared to undergo 
that hardship as one of the features of the journey. 
To be suddenly told you are to dismount and walk up 
a " short" hill; to do so. and then to learn after the 
trial that the acclivity stretches on a couple of miles, 
and that a worse declivity to an equal extent lies di- 
rectly beyond, especially when the black skies are also 
pouring down " pitchforks of rain " on your head, is 
to — well, it will try the patience of a man and pretty 
nearly annihilate the sweet temper of a woman. This 
was our experience on both coaches that day. Still, 



ENGLISH LAKES: SOUTHEY-LAXD 399 




Dervaentwater . 



400 BRIGHT DAYS I X MERRIE ENGLAND 

we survived, and we will know better next time. That 
awful hill to and through Honister Pass will only catch 
us in fair weather. 

There are, at first, after leaving Keswick, fine views 
of the Derwent, and the roar of the Falls of Lodore 
may be heard but not seen from the roadway. A walk 
of a few hundred yards back of the Lodore Hotel 
will bring one to the Falls, and, as I saw them, full of 
water, after days of rain, they were without disappoint- 
ment. The valley of the llorrowdale is a bit of the 
picturesque, in sharp contrast with the bare and slaty 
hills, that are gradually reached after passing the bal- 
anced rock known as the Bowder stone, which is over 
sixty feet high, and, after passing through the pleas- 
ant village of Rosthwaite, Castle Crag, on which, per- 
haps, the Romans built a fortification — I judge both 
the tradition and the evidences to be somewhat un- 
certain — is seen prominent and imposing. The climb 
up the steep pass follows and is over fifteen hundred 
feet, all to be made on foot. I [onister (rag is a m;h- 
of slate quarries, " among the best in England," and 
along its face, between it and the Yew ( rag, the steep 
descent of another fifteen hundred feet is so remarka- 
ble that, aside from the sublime feelings of that desert 
waste, there is a sense of insecurity, especially when 
on the coach, that you are not soon likely to forget. 
After the pass comes Buttermere, and that is but a 
mile and a half long — somewhat larger than Grasmere 
— and is hardly less, I am not sure but more, bewitch- 
ing. Mists and clouds and rain dulled the sense of 
vision too much for a clear judgment on that point, 
but still i believe Buttermere to be a clear-cut gem. 

At Buttermere I went to one hotel — I will not 
name it — and my friends to another, and had lunch- 
eon. Each party wished that the stop had been at some 



ENGLISH LAKES: SOUTHED LAND 401 

mi her inn. I judge both, or all, are good enough for 
an hour's pause on a brighter day, when the landladies 
might be in better temper; that day, they tried our pa- 
tience, which is always a premium virtue in ol<l Eng- 
land in a rainy hour. 

There is a walk somewhat long, but not steep, usti 
ally to be taken on the return journey, up Buttermere 
Hause, along hills with smooth side-, green with ver- 
dure. Then, at the height of eleven hundred feet 
above the sea, amid surroundings tar less bleak than 
at Honister, a gradual descent begins through ECeska 
dale and the Xewlands. Not very interesting at first, 
but afterward with charming views, which continue 
until the Greta is crossed, in sight of < "rosthwaite 
church and Greta Hall; and then the journey ends at 
Keswick. 

There is a large, unhewn stone near Friars' Crag, 
on the Derwent, whereon has been sculptured the pro- 
file of John Ruskin. It is scarcely a year since it was 
executed (( October, [900), but it i-^ an admirable like- 
ness of this singularly gifted man in his prime. It 
has a crown of wild olives around it and the motto 
" To-day." Turner, Rogers and Faber, as well as 
Ruskin and Smith, arc inseparably connected with 
Derwent, and even Carlyle has described in graphic 
sentences his thoughts on an overlooking peak. 

So, as we leave it, it is with these and other mem- 
orable names pressed close to the soul as awakeners 
A different but of strangely interesting emotions. 
I ome," said Faber, in one of his poems upon the 
vale of Keswick and referring to the Derwent: 

" ( ome, let us gather here upon the hill, 
The noble that yet beat pure and high, 
And, while the lake beneath our feet is still, 
Sweetly our speech may run on chivalry." 
26 




The Old Man of the Mountain. 



XXVI.— THE ENGLISH LAKES: RUSKIN-LAND. 



C ONI STON WATER is off the beaten route. 
But its name and fame are indissolubly con- 
nected with the greatest prose writer and art 
critic in the English tongue. Ruskin may not have 
suited all tastes, and his shibboleths may not always 
have been consistent and effective for reforms, but 
he was an honest-minded, brave, grand fighter. His 
whole aim was to elevate humanity and make life 
worth living for the intelligent poor man as well as 
for the intelligent rich man. How he pounded into the 
working classes and out of the lords and overlords of 
England, (and of Scotland, too), his noble principles 
of self-abnegation and of a higher order of thinking 
and living! If Gladstone was the " Grand Old Man." 
Ruskin was the Grand Old Critic, and yet everybody 
loved him, and in the desuetude of his active life he 
was able to draw to him v every humble man and wom- 
an, within reach of his kindly ministry. He lived 
honored, not by kings, but by the whole world of 
thinkers: lie died crowned by the benedictions of the 



ENGLISH LAKES: RUSKIN-LAND 403 

humble folk of his entire Coniston parish. I say par- 
ish, though he was not of the clerical order. In a 
sense all England was his parish, but his Coniston 
neighbors esteemed him so much for his unaffected 
simplicity and personal deeds of kindness, that they, 
if no others, will see to it that above his dust the 
choicest wild Mowers of remembrance will never cease 
to bloom. 

Coniston is at the foot of ( )ld Alan Mountain, and 
is twelve miles away, as the road is usually taken, 
from Grasmere, and eight from Ambleside. The four 
coaching parties with which I have been happily as- 
sociated in Lake journeys, twice drove from Gras- 
mere to Coniston, and I should like to repeat it again 
at the earliest opportunity. This means that it was 
full of pleasureable sights and associations; memora- 
bly so the views of Windermere and its surrounding 
hills; even more so the walks about Coniston and 
Brantwood. 

In going over from Grasmere we drove part way to 
Ambleside; then crossed the Rothay, passing by 
Fox How. the home of the Arnolds,* and took a 
straight road to Coniston over the hills. On reaching 
the lake at its northerly end the road passes to the 
west and so finds its way to the village of Coniston. 
But we kept on the easterly side, and passed, first, the 
small house called " Tent Lodge." where Tennyson 
resided for a brief time in some earlier year — just when 
I have been unable to ascertain. Another mile and 
then comes Brantwood. The coach does not go to 
this point, as the road is too narrow 7 to permit of 
turning, and no visitor goes beyond. Why should he, 
when here lived The Prophet? " Yea, and more than 



See Chapter XXIV. 



4 04 BRIGHT DAIeS IN MKItlt.E ENGLAND 

a prophet." Rather one would tarry at such a spot till 
the going- clown of many suns! 

Our thoughts are to turn to Brantwood in a mo- 
ment. Let us first seem to face about, drive back the 
same road, go around the end of Conistonwater, and 
so reach the little town itself. Coniston village is not 
much. It has few beauties of house or shop. It has a 
fine, large hotel, with an elegant lawn, stretching to 
the water's edge, but its other buildings are not so be- 
witching as the many in Grasmere. Its lake, how- 
ever, is wide and long — over five miles long in fact — 
and a hundred and fifty feet in depth, and wooded 
banks close it in on every side. Coniston Old Alan 
rises up twenty-five hundred feet directly west of the 
village, and from its summit, which is often covered 
with clouds, there is a view of wide extent, to Skid- 
daw, Helvellyn, the Yorkshire hills, the Irish Sea and 
even Mount Snowdon on a clear day. An hour and a 
half on the back of a pony, or on foot, will take one 
to the top. I may add that the return road to Gras- 
mere should always be the direct one; it secures not 
only a drive through magnificent forests, but the Red 
Bank view of Grasmere, from the side of Loughrigg 
Fell. 

Now let us hie in thought back to Brantwood, 
where, for the present, our descriptions of coaching 
journeys are to end. It was chosen by Ruskin for his 
home in 1871, and there he passed the remaining twen- 
tv-nine years — the sunset of his life. He had lived 
before at Denmark Hill in Kent, but in the year named 
he was very ill, and was at the Matlock Springs in 
Derbyshire. There, as it is stated, his mind kept 
wandering toward the English lakes; to Derwentwa- 
ter. about which clustered his earliest recollections; 
to Coniston, where, he kept saying, " the crags are 



ENGLISH LAKES: RUSKIN-LAND 405 




4 o6 BRIGHT DAYS IX MERRIE ENGLAND 

lone." He thought he would get well if he only re- 
sided there. It so happened that the poet and engrav- 
er, Linton, was at that time offering Brantwood for 
sale. Ruskin heard of it and purchased it for £1,500. 
( rerald Massey had once lived in the same cottage, 
and he and Linton were both Ruskin's friends. This 
added a touch of happiness to the new possession. He 
found in Brantwood, he wrote afterward, " a roughcast 
country cottage, eld, damp, decayed; smokey-chim- 
neyed and rat-riddled, but five acres of rock and moor 
and streamlet;" and, he added, "I think the finest 
view I know in Cumberland or Lancashire, with the 
sunset visible over the same." Ah! it was that sunset, 
daily re-enacting its miracle over the shoulders of 
Coniston Old Man, that must have contributed as 
much as any one thing to make him well and happy 
again. And he possessed the seat, well known in the 
vicinity as Wordsworth';, on his grounds, and Ten- 
nyson had once been not far away! So he sat down 
calmly, added to his house, festered the wild roses on 
his hedges — the flowers he best loved — tended the 
vines that grew :o luxuriantly on the whitish-gray 
stones of his dwelling, and kept mellowing with his in- 
creasing years. He was fifty-two when he planted this 
new home on the shores of Coniston, and he never de- 
serted it, unless for briefest seasons, until he looked 
out for the last time through the front turret window 
where he spent so many evenings, across the fir trees, 
over the lake, over to Coniston ( )ld Man, and then, in 
an adjoining room, fell asleep with the gentleness of 
a child. 

It is almost a lane that one wanders through as he 
passes the Brantwood cottage. The hawthorne is al- 
lowed to grow luxuriantly, and it has narrowed the 
way, which was already not wide, so that onlv by an 



ENGLISH LAKES: RJSKIN-LAND 407 




4 o8 BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 

effort can one see the chimneys, much less the attrac- 
tive front of this now famous house. On the occasion 
of this first visit I stopped to pick buttercups and 
daisies by the roadside, and, alas! this was my misfor- 
tune, for others first saw the great writer himself, 
walking down the way ahead of them, attended by his 
watcher. He wore a soft, high hat, and his long, gray 
beard served to heighten the picturesqueness of his fine 
head, in which there were those same soft, blue eyes 
which have ever characterized his expressive face. Al- 
most twenty years of sickness had not dimmed the 
lustre of those mellow eyes, nor shattered the digni- 
fied repose of that prophetic visage. As the illus- 
tration represents ' him, so he was, except that in it 
he is seated in his chair, the one in which he was 
frequently wheeled about, whereas, as seen on the day 
described, he walked erect, though hurrying out of 
view. 

Say what we may of Mr. Ruskin's influence as a 
writer on his generation — and was it not extraordi- 
narily vitalizing? — his private life Uad so much of 
sweetness and nobility in it, that few have ever told 
an anecdote of him which did not illustrate this fea- 
ture of his character. Here is a recent account of a 
visit paid to him by an intimate friend, when the ar- 
tist-poet was nearing his ninetieth birthday, and it 
throws much light upon his domestic virtues: " Mr. 
Ruskin and I were dining together. During the meal, 
as we were enjoying a rhubarb tart, I happened to say 
that it was the first I had tasted that season, and re- 
marked how delicious it was. The Professor was de- 
lighted at my appreciation of his rhubarb, and, ringing 
for one of the servants, he said: ' Please tell Jackson 
I want him.' When he came into the room, his master 
said: 'Jackson, I am very pleased to tell you that 



ENGLISH LAKES: EUSKIN-LAND 409 

your first pulling of rhubarb is quite a success; and 
my friend here, who has had some pie made out of it, 
says it is delicious.' When we had finished dining, a 
servant came in, bringing a number of lighted candles. 
The windows being shaded by the overhanging trees 
above, the room was almost dark, even before the sun 
had gone down. After placing candles she was leav- 
ing the room, when she said: ' Please, sir, there is a 
beautiful sunset sky just now over The Old Alan.' The 
Professor rose from his chair and said: 'Thank you, 
Kate, for telling us." He left the room, but soon re- 
turned. ' Yes.' he said, ' it is worth seeing," and he led 
the way upstairs to his bedroom. It was a glorious 
sight, the sun sinking behind the Coniston Old Man 
Mountain, and the mist and ripples on the lake tinged 
with a crimson Hush. We sat in the window recess 
till the sun went down behind the mountain. Not a 
word was spoken by either of us. I was thinking of 
the charming relation and sympathy manifested be- 
tween master and servant." 

The whole world knows how, soon after Mr. Rus- 
kin married Miss Gray, in 1852, he discovered that she 
was in love with the famous French artist, Millais. 
Millais was then twenty-three, and one of the hand- 
somest men of his time. He was Ruskin's friend, and 
had been engaged by Ruskin to paint the portrait of 
his lovely young wife. It was during the sittings for 
this portrait that Mrs. Ruskin and Millais formed the 
attachment, which ended later in Mrs. Ruskin's ob- 
taining, without the slightest scandal, a divorce. 
It is asserted (I know not with what truth) that Mr. 
Ruskin stood by in the church when the two were mar- 
ried, and always continued to be the friend of both, 
although rumor has it that the mental agony he then 
endured helped to bring on that disease of mind which 



4io 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE ENGLAND 



often served to cloud his later years. Mrs. Millais died 
in 1897, of cancer, of which disease, Sir John Millais, 
president of the Royal Academy in London at the time 
of his death, died sixteen months before. 




John R ii ski 11. 



Ruskin intensely loved wild flowers. One of his 
friends wrote of him that he had once " seen him bur- 
dened with sadness and imaginary woe unutterable 
and almost bevond bearing: for anguish, for the 



ENGLISH LAKES: LUSKIN LAND 411 

thought of a life wasted and work useless and un- 
done;" and then added: " I remember a later visit 
when I found him in absolute serenity of an un- 
clouded heart, at rest and in peace, sitting with gentle 
hands clasped, gazing with love and wonder — almost 
as a child might gaze — upon a bouquet of wild flow- 
ers just placed before him for his pleasure and de- 
light. ' Flowers/ he once wrote, 'seem intended for 
the solace of humanity.' ' : Could a man who so loved 
flowers be otherwise than a lover of all the beautiful 
things God has made and pronounced good? Is it 
not the key to a nature so lovable and so inspiring, 
that, when most a breaker of the images which other 
people worshipped, he was nearest to the top of the 
ladder that reaches the skies? 

Who would not like to have attended the little, 
faithful band of neighbors and friends, who buried 
>uch a man in mid-winter of the early part of the last 
year of the last century, with the wild-rose pall " of 
simple, unbleached linen, spun by hand and woven by 
hand tinder the eyes of a true disciple of this Master," 
and under the wreaths of the daughter of the Queen, 
of the children of Conistoii. who had loved him for his 
kindliness, and of the village tailor, who affixed this 
inscription to his gift: 'There was a man sent from 
1 rod whose name was John." Plain and simple was 
the ritual read in the church, fitting in so well with the 
falling rain and the winds. And then he was " laid at 
the feet of the pine trees he had so loved and honored 
in his life." where the roots might " weave themselves 
about his sleep, and take his dust to their tender k< 
ing." 

The world may have had greater men than John 
Rnskin: it never gathered to its bosom in death a sub- 
limer specimen of a true man. whose life had been 



412 



BRIGHT DAYS IN MERRIE EXLAGXD 



spent in the bravest of endeavors to elevate his fellow- 
men and speed on the cause of the soul's freedom 
from its sin-cursed environment. 




APPROXIMATE MILEAGE TABLE 
OF THE "FOUR-IN-HAND JOURNEYS." 



Journi vs Miles 
I. Oxford — Woodstock — Banbury — Edgehill — 
Stratford-on-Avon — Warwick — Kenil- 
worth — Coventry — Leicester — Not- 
tingham 114 

II. Oxford — Dorchester — Wallingford — Streat- 
ley — Reading — Three-mile Cross — 
Strathfieldsaye — Basingstoke — Win- 
chester — Southampton — West Cowes — 
Carisbrooke — Freshwater — Shallfleet — 
West Cowes — Romsey — Salisbury — 
Amesbury — Stonehenge — Amesbury — 
.Marlborough — Lambourn — Wantage . 210 

III. Oxford — Dorchester — Wallingford — Streat- 

ley — Reading — Twyford — Henley-on- 
Thames — Twyford — ■ Windsor — Staines 

— Hampton Court — Staines — Windsor 

— Stoke Pogis — Beaconsfield — Jordan? 
• — ■ Aylesbury — Thame — Forest Hill — 
Oxford 146 

IV. Oxford — Woodstock — Chipping Norton — 

Stratford-on-Avon — Warwick — Kenil- 
worth — Coventry — Stoneleigh — Ban- 
bury — Oxford ...... 91 

V. Wadebridge — Tintagel — Boscastle — Bude- 

haven — Clovelly — Bideford . . .64 
VI. Lynton — Lynmouth — Malmsmead — Lynton . 20 
VII. Ventnor — Bonchurch — Shanklin ■ — Arreton — 
Newport — Carisbrooke — Niton — Vent- 
nor 30 

VIII. Windermere — Ambleside — Grasmere — Conis- 
ton — Grasmere — Keswick — Buttermere 

— Keswick ~0 

Total 745 



GENERAL INDEX. 



Abingdon Abbey, 204 

Adams, William, 350 

Addison, Joseph, 94, 178 

Adelaide, Queen, 121, 236 

Adeliza, Queen, 117 

Aenat 112 

Aethelflaeda, S.. 170 

Aethelred, King, 19, 123, 130, 204 

A til cm, 333 

Albert, Prince, 122, 165, 236 

Alexander, of Scotland, 24 

Alexander 11.. of Russia, 230 

Alfred, Prince, 220 

Alfred the Great, 140- 144. 19, 20, 

86, 88, 92, 123, 129, 135, 136, 

1 ; 1. [70, 179. [8l, 204, 237 
Allan Hank. 38s, 386 
Alwin. Bishop, 136 
Ambleside. 376. 382. 403 
Ambrosius. Prince, 193 
American Flag, 8o, 160 
Amersham, 261, 264 
Amesbury, 116, 184, 185, 192 — 195 
Anderson, Mary, 282, 286 
Anne, Countess of ^'arvvick. 117 
Anne, Queen, 229 
Annery, 334 
Antony, Marc, 289 
Argyle, Duke of, 165 
Arnold, Edward, 378 
Arnold. Matthew, 378, 393 
Arnold, Thomas, 93, 370, 378, 386, 

403 
Arnold, \\ dliam, 378 
Arret on, 355—358 
Arreton Down, 358 
Arthur, King, 134, 228, 288, 302 

—316 
Arthur, Prince, 194 
Ashburton, Lady. J73 
Ashdown, 123. 204 
Astley, Sir Jacob, 35 
A~tor, Mr., 220 
Athelney, 144 
Athens, 81 
Austin, Jane, 139 
Avebury, 189, 191, 200 
Avon, 2, 192 

Avon Grange, Stratford. 2S4 
Aylesbury, u. 194, 260 — 264, 269, 

271 
Aylward, Mr., 122 

Bacon, Lord, 230, 236 
Badgeworthy, 340 
Baker. Mrs.' 47, 48 

Ban-Booght, 312 

Banbury, 12, 24, 26, 28 — 33, 37 



Barnstaple, 33?,, 337- 346 
Barry, 200 

Basingstoke, 119. 122, 123, 124 
Bassenthwaite, 396 

Bassets, (family), 333 

Bassildon, 113 

Bath, Countess of, 333 

Baxter, Richard, 36, 259 

Beaconsfield, 255, 266 

Beaconsfield, Earl of. 255, 261 

Beauchamp, Richard. 235 

Beaufort, Cardinal. 136. 145 

Beaufort, Jane, 227 

Beaumont, Francis, 92 

Bemerton, 179 

Berryman, Mrs. 321 

liettu s-y-Coed, 49 

Bideford, 317. 319. 330 

Bideford Bay, 328, 323 

Birinus, ic6 

Birthwaite, 373 

Pilackgang Chine, 348. 357, 365 

Blackmore, Richard D., 338, 340, 

34i 
Blackstone, Sir \\ illiam, 91, 96, 

108 
Bleaberry Fell, 394 
Blenheim, 13, 24, 277 — 280 
Bliss, 5 

Blois, Peter de, 183 
Blount, Martha, 113 
Bodley, Sir Thomas., 98 
Boetius, 20 

Boleyn. Anne. 137, 333 
Bolingbroke, Lord, 280 
Bonchurch, 348, 350 
II'" 'tli. Edwin, 283 
I '.'"'tli. Junius Brutus, 2S3 
Borrowdale, 397, 398, 400 
Bos, King, 312 
Boscastle, 306 
Bossiney, 308, 313 
Bosvi ell, James. 373 
Bosworth, 76, 86 
Bowness, 371. 373 
I'.' n les, (family), 194 
Branstone, 355 
Brantwood. 89, 371, 403 — 412 
Brathay, 37(1. 378 
Briery Close, 374 
Brightstone, 160 
Bristol Channel, 335 
Broeck, 320 
Bronte, < 'harlotte, 37'.. 37, 

Brooks, Philip, 165 
Brown, Mr.. 348 
Browning, Alr^., 119, 122 



4i6 



INDEX 



Buckingham, Duke of. 265, 266, 

2/0, 287 

Buckland, 93 
Bude Haven, .116 
Bunhill Fields, 162 
Burgh, Hubert de, 287 
Burke, Sir Edmund, 255, 267 
Burns, Robert, 45, 366 
Burton, 06 
Bushy Park, 2.;2 
Butler, Bishop, 93 
Buttermere, 49, 397, 400 
Buttermere Hause, 401 
Byron, Ada, 84 
Byron, Lord, 79, 81 — 84, 200 

Cabots, 316 

Caesar, Claudius, 181 

Caesar, Julius, 61, 108, 204 

Caesar's Tower, 52 

Cambridge, 91, 97, 100, 253, 271 

Camden, William, 303 

Camel, 303 

Camelford, 306 

Canning, George, 370, 372 

Canute, King, 130, 123, 135, 136, 

363 
Carisbrooke, 152—139, 161, 348, 

359, .162 
Carlyle, Thomas, 35, 42, 350, 370, 

380, 401 
Carnegie, Andrew, 160 
Carys, (familv), 333 
Cary, Will, 326 
Castle Crag, 400 
Castle Rigg, 393 
Castle Rock, 394 
Catherine, St., 14s 
Caversham, 117, 212 
Cawood Castle, 76 
Cecil, William, 96, 229 
Cedars of Lebanon, 52 
Cellini, Benvenuto, 232 
Cerdic, King, 146, 153 
Chalfont St. Giles, 260 — 264 
Charlecote, 291 — 294 
Charles I., 34—36, 59, 86, 122, 

231, 245, 250, 260, 265, 266, 326, 

348, 359 
Charles II., 7, 21, 66, 131, 195, 

223, 260 
Charles V., 131, 134, 154, 156 
Charlotte, Princess, 23s 
Charlotte, Queen, 236 
Chaucer, Geoffrey, 2, 24, 366 
Chatham, Earl of, 121, 200 
Cherbourg, 355 
Cherwell, 89, 94 
Chesterfield, Earl of, 200 
Chichester, Bishop of, 235 
Chichester, Sir John, 334 
Child, Geore-e W., 38 
Chiltern Hills, 18, 26 



Chipping Norton, 280 
Christina, Abbess, 172 
Clarence, Duke of. 287 
Clarkson, Thomas, 370 
Claypoole, Mrs., 245 
Cleopatra, 289 
Clifford, Lord, 21 
Clinton, Sir Henry, 233 
Cliveden, 220 
Clough, Arthur, 378 
Clovelly, 319 — 328, 336 
Coaches, Old-time, 1, 4 
Coffin, Sir William, 333 
Coffins, (family), 334 
Coke, Sir Edward, 230 
Colbourne, W. G., 38 
Colbourne, Mrs. W. G., 282 
Coleridge, Hartley, 380, 388 
Coleridge, Samuel, 3, 93, 382, 385, 

393 
Coleridges, The, 370 
Coles, 333 
Columbus, 33, 76 
Combe, Martin, 346 
Combe Park, 338 
Coniston, 403, 404 
Coniston Old Man, 373, 384, 402 

—404 
Conistonwater, 371, 384 
Copplestones, (family), 334 
Corbett, Bishop, 92 
Corday, Charlotte, 98 
Corelli, Marie, 43, 283 
Cornwall, 302, 366 
Cornwall, Earl of, 308 
Countisbury Common, 346 
Coventry, 36, 49, 64 — 70, 280, 296 

—298 
Cowes, 147 — 149 
Cowes, West, 165 
Cowper, William, 267 
Cowperthwaite, J., 382 
Cranmer, Thomas, 137 
Cressy, 239 
Croker, Richard, 208 
Cromwell, Oliver, 21, 30, 33, 34, 

36, 54, 131, 136, 140, 157, 245, 

260, 270, 291 
Cromwell, Thomas, 137 
Crosthwaite, 397, 401 
Cumberland, ;o6 
Cumner Hall, 63 
Cunnington, Mr., 190 
Cuyp, w 
Cynegil, King, 106 
Cynric, King, 146, 153, 181 

Dairyman's Daughter, 355 — 358 
Davenant, Sir William, 96 
David, Jacques L., 54 
David II., 232, 308 
Davy. Humphrey, 370, 378, 392 
Deddington, 26, 74 



INDEX 



417 



1 (el Sarto, Andrea, 54 

I lenmark 1 [ill, 404 

I )t Quincey, Thomas, 97, 370, 

382, 3*5. 396 
Derwentwater, 396, 398 — 400 
1 k -cartes, 90 
I levon, 333 
Devonshire, 366 
Dickens, Charles, 323. 326 
I (inton, 269 

Disraeli. Benjamin, 267 
Domesday Book, 50, 321, 358 
Doone, Lorna. 6, 316, 335, 337 
Doone Valley. 337 
Doones, The, 338 
I li irchester, 105 
I love < ottage, 384, 38s 
Drake, Sir Francis, 229, 334 
1 Irayton, M ichael, 150 
Druids. 182. i8q 
Dudley, Robert, 51, 61. 63. 56 — 

58, 100, 229 
Dunmail Raise, 392 
Durer, Albrecht, 300 
Durham. 153 
Duval, Claude, 4 
Dynabus, 312 

Edgar. King, 116, 140, 193 
Edgehill, 33—37 
Edinburgh, 61. 153 
Edmund, King, 135 
Edred, King, 135 
Edward, Prince, 24, q6, 287 
Edward, the Confessor, no, 222 
Edward, (the Elder), 170 
Edward 1., 24. 122. 126, 104. 222. 

223. 2 HI 

Edward 1 1 .. 223 

Edward 111.. 223. 224, 228, 239 

Edward 1\\. 86. 223, 235 

Edward VI., 137. 223. 243 

Edward VII., 92, 207, 222. 223, 

2 34 

Egbert, King, 129, 136 

iford, 334 
Eldon, Lord, 96 
Eleanor, Queen, 29. 30, 194, 222 
Elfrida. < jueen, 116 
Eliot, George, 64, 70 — 74 
Elizabeth, Princess, 157—159. 358, 

360. 362 
Elizabeth, Queen. 24, 29, 56, 60, 

61, 98, 100, 126, 154. 157, 158, 

159. 294, 326, 332, 358, 360, 

362 
Elk-ray. 374 

Kllwood, Thomas. 260. 261 
Elwina, Abbess, 170 
Ely, 170 

Emerson, Ralph \\\, 370, 380 
Emley Park, 173 
Emma, Queen, 136 



English Lakes, 6 

Esdraelon, jf> 

Essex, Earl of, 34, 33 

Bsthwaite Water, 373 

Ethelwulf, King. 136 

Eton, 247. 24S 

i.tnn i ollegi 

Evelyn, John 

Exeter, 3«3- 57 

Exmoors; 316, 335. 337. 344 

Faber, Frederick W., 370. 375. 

394- 401 
Fairfax, Ferdinando. 271 
Falstaff, Sir John, 94, 288, 294 
Farringford, 163 
l''aueit. Helen. 286 
Fayre, Mark le, 126 
Fenwick, Miss, 376 
Ferguson, Sir Samuel. [8g 
Fielding. Henry, t?8 
Fitz-Osborne, William, 154 
Fleetwoods, The. 260 
Flemings, Le, 379 
Forest Hill. 271 273 
Fortescues, (family). 333 
Foster, Mr.. 15 
Fox. Bishop, 136 
Fox, Charles James, 94. 96, 210. 

256 
Fox, George, 259 
Fox How. 378, 403. 405 
Francis I., 232 
Franklin, Fred, 13 
Franklin, William, 9. 13. 75^103, 

in. 151. 198. 202. 212. 2407275, 

277 
Freshwater Pay. 131. 160 — 162 
Friars' Crag, toi 
Froissart, Jean, 224 

'•"loll. }I2 

Furness, 113 

Galahad, Sir. 133 

< ialileo, 2.-2 

Gallantry Power. 323, 328 

1 iardiner. Bishop, 137 

( I. rdner, Isaac, 39 

Gardner, John S., 39 

(iarrick. David, 200 

Caske!!, Mrs., 375 

Gawaine, Sir, 303 

( lay, John, 193 

Geoffrey, Archbishop, 21, 159 

George II., 223 

( leorge III., 236, 249 

1 leorge IV.. 120. 236. 235 

( libbon, Edward, 94 

Cliffords. The. 326 

Giles, St.. Hill, 134 

Gladstone, 93, 284. 402 

Gleichen, Count, 207 

Gloucester, Duke of, 157, 359 



41! 



[NDEX 



< nidn a, Lady, 6^, 66 

< iodstOV . 21. 22 

< ioldsmith, Oln er, io8, 178 
( ioring, 101. 11 j 
Gower, Lord Ronald, 286 
Grasmere, 370. 382 — 388, 403, 404 
Gray, Dorothy, 253 

Gray. Thomas, 2.;2, 267, 370, 392 
<iray. Miss, 409 
Greece, King of, 83 
Creen. William, 388 
Grenville, Lady Mary, 323 
Grenville, Richard. 323. 332, 333 
Greta Hall, 371, 390. 336. 401 
Grey, Lord, 287 

Hadrian's Vase, 52 

Hale, Sir Matthew, 96 

Halton House, 269 

Hamilton. Sir William, 96 

Hamlyns, The. 226 

Hammond, Colonel, 155 

Hampden, John, 94, 269 — 271 

Hampshire. 149 

Hampton Court, 155. 242 — 246 

hampton Lucy, 291. 294 — 296 

Hants, 104 

Hardens. 376 

Hardicanute. King, 130, 131 

Hare, Bishop, 260 

Hares, English, 195 

Harold, King, 130 

Harrison. Frederic, 142 

Harrison, Mr., 326 

Harrold. Thomas. 74 

Hartland Point, 328 

Harvard College. 333 

Harvey. William, 93 

Haslemere, 16: 

Hastings. Lord, 287 

Hathaway. rtnne, 44 

Hawkshead, 373 

Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 52, 191, 

3/0. 373 
Hayllor, 108 
Heale House, 19s 
Heber. Bishop, 96 
Hedges, Mr., 2?s 
Helm Crag, 383 

Helvellyn, 371, 382, 384. 392, 404 
1 1 emans. Fe..cia, 141. 375 
Hengist, 191, 192, 205 
Henley-on-Thames, 209 — 216 
Henrietta. Queen, 159 
Henry, of Blois, 145 
Henry, of Essex, 117 
Henry I., 20. 21, 116, 117, 13°. 

140, 172. 183, 199. 223. 233 
Henry II., 21, 108, 116, 117, 133, 

178, 193. 223 
Henrv 111., 24. 131, 194, 199. 223 
Penrv IV., 2:, 66, 226, 288 
Henry \ ., 56, 96. 131, 126 



Henry VI., 131. 223, 287 
Henry VII., 24. 33. 131, 223 
Henry VIII. 23, 54. u ? . 131, 133, 

134, 137, 194. H3. 232. 233, 234, 

243, 244, 265, 333 
Herbert, George, 104, 179 
Herbert, Lord, 31 
Hercules, Promontory, 328 
I lersc.iels. The, 6v 218, 267 
nertford, Countess of, 200 
ilervev, Tames, 96, 317 
Higgins, "Mr., 188 
Highman, Frank, 182 
High Seat, 394 
■ nils, William Henry, 376 
Hinckley, 70, 74, 77 
Hobby "Drive, 32S 
Hogarth, William, 126 
I [olbein, Hans, 54, 300 
1 [olinshead, 22 
Holmes, Oliver W., 165, 176, 

370 
Homer, 6j 

Honister Crag, 400, 401 
H< mister r'ass, 397 
Hood, Thomas, 92 
Hooker, Richard, 93 
ifoppin, Prof.. 174, 383 
Horringford, 355 
Horsey, Sir Edward, 358 
Horton, 271 
Howard, Thomas, 229 
Howard, Henry, Earl of Surrey, 

223 
Howitt, William, 46, 309 
Hucknall-Torknard, 80, 81 
Hudson, Hendrik, 97 
Hugh, of Lincoln, 23 
Hushes, Thomas, 93, 204 
Hurst Castle, 157 
Hutchinson, Mary. 393 
Hyde Abbey, 125 

Ichnidu, 112 

Iffly, ios 

Ilfracomoe, 327, 335, 346 

tngelow, Jean, 112 

Irving, Washington, 2, 38, 39, 42, 

283, 234 
Isabella, Queen, 83 
Isis, 87, 89, 97 

Isle of Wight, 140, 145—168 
Itchen, 147 

Jackson, William, 396 

Tames, (Apostle). 116 

James I., 223, 226, 245, 265, 326 

James II., 236 

Jefferson, Joseph, 283 

John, King, 131, 146, 176. 219, 

223, 287 
John, of Gaunt, S9 
Johnson, Clifton, 294 



INDEX 



419 



Johnson, Samuel, 94 
Jonson, lien, 29, 93. 94 
Jordans, 257—259 
Jorgan, Captain, 326 

Juliet, 277. 

{Catherine, Queen, 194, 291 

Kay-Shuttleworth, Sir James. 375 

Kean, Edmund, 283 

Keats, John, 3, 04, .570, 393 

Keble, John, 93 

Kenilworth, 51, 55, 56 — 63, 64, 296, 

298 
Kent, fluke of, 235 
Kenulph, King, 136 
Keskadale, 401 

Keswick, w. 37L 382, 384, 394 
Kilkhampton, 317 
Kinegils, 136 
Kineton. 35 

Kingsley, Charles, 326, 230 
Kneller, Godfrey, 231 

j-akeside, 371 

Lamb, Charles, 370, 385, 396 

Lambourn, 201 

Lancashire, 406 

Lancaster, Earl of, 59 

Landor, Walter S., 51 

Land's End. 303 

Launcelot, Sir, 133, 303, 307, 322 

Lawrence, St., 365 

Leamington, 55, 296, 298 

Legers, St., 334 

Leicester, 70, 75 — 78 

Leicester, Earl of, (see " Dudley 

Robert ") 
Leigh, Amyas, 334 
Leigh, Lord, 286, 298, 300 
Leigh, .Mrs.. 129. 334 
Leland, John, 308 
Lely, Sir Peter, 231, 300 
Leopold, King, 92 
Lesketh How, 378 
Leslie, G. D.. 108 
Leyden, 90 

Lincoln, Bishop of, 23 
Lincoln, Earl of. 235 
Lindsey, Earl of, 25 
Linton, 406 

Lockhart, John G., 372 
Loddon, 216 
Lodore, Falls of, 336, 396, 398, 

400 
Lomond, Loch, 2 
London, Bishop of, 21 
London Stone, 240 
Longfellow, Ilenrv \Y., 165, 283, 
_ 354 

Longspe, Earl, 21 
Lome, Marquis of, 229 
Loughborough, 79 
Loughrigg Fell, 378, 380, 383, 404 



I. .mil. Lord, 64 

.Lubbock. Sir John, 1891 

Lucius, 312 

Lucullu; 

1 ,ucy, Sir I nomas 

I. un.lv. 328 
Lyn, 336, 338 
Lynmouth, 336 
Lynton, 335 

Mabie, Hamilton \\ '.. 
Macaulay, Thomas !'•.. 270 
Mackay, Charles, 284 
Mackay, Minnie, 283 
Maidenhead, 218 
Malmsmead, 338, 340, 344 
Manchester, 5 
Manners. Sir George, -3- 
Manning, Cardinal, 93 
Mansfield, Lord, 93 
Marat, Jean Paul, 98 
Margaret, St., 172 
Marlborough, 107 — 200 
Marlborough, Duchess of, 20, 24 
Marlborough, Duke of, 13, 19, 24, 

21~ — 280 

Marochetti, 359 

Martin. Lady. 286 
Martineau, Harriet. 376, 370 
Mary, (dau Edw. L). 194 
Mary, (wife of Philip), 245 
Mary. Uueen of Scots, 67, 68, 

137. 130- -45 
Massey. Gerald, .406 
Massinger, Philip, 93, 178 
Materiana, St., 309 
Matilda, 31 
Matilda, Empress, 108, 117, 130 

(see " Maud ") 
Matilda, Princess, 172 
Matlock Springs, 404 
Maud. Queen, 116, 117. 130. 172 
Medina, 131 
Melrose, 115 
Memphric, 88 
Merlvn. 133 
Merton, 228 

Merton, Walter De.. 88 
Mervyn's Tower, 62 
Middietown, 165 
Millais, Sir John, 409, 410 
Milton, Deborah, 263 
Milton, John. 2, 260*— 264, 271 — 

275 
Minehead, 335 
Mirabeau, Comte de, 256 

nden, 261 
Mitford, Mary Russell, 119, 122 
Modjeska, Helena, 283 
Montagu, Lady Marj Wortley, 

200 
Montesfont, John, 126 
Montfort, Robert de, tij 



420 



INDEX 



Montfort. Simon de, 59 
More. Hannah, 185 
.Mortimer. Roger, 85 
Moulsford, in. 210 
Muller, F. Max, 96 
Murillo, Bartoleme, 54 
Musgrave, 96 

Nabb Scar. 373 

Napoleon, 121 

Xavarro, de, Mary A., 282 

Needles, 165 

Nelson, Lord, 78, 236 

Nether Avon, 197 

Netley Abbey, 169 

Neville, Robert, 55 

Nevison, s 

New Forest, 169 

Newlands, 397, 401 

Newport, 151, 155, 159, 348, 359 

Newstead Abbey, 81 

Nightingale, Florence, 173 

Niton, 365 

Normandy. 295 

North, Sir Christopher, (sec 

" Wilson, John ") 
Northampton, Mayor of, 38 
Northbrook, Farl of. 12; 
Nottingham, 79, 80—86, 101 
Nuneaton, 70, 72 

Oare, 338, 344 

Orrest Head, 373, 374 

Osborne, 1.19 

Osmund, 182 

Oswald, St., 388 

Oxenholme, 371 

Oxford, 87 — 100. 6, 9, 16, 18, 32, 

101, 106, ro8, 109, 144, 266, 271, 

274, 275, 277, 300 
Oxfordshire, 10. 28. 64 

Palmerston. Ford, 170 

Pangbourne, 101, 112, 210 

Parker, John Henry, 191 

Parkhurst Forest, 152, 165 

Parr, Catherine, 244 

Pempage Forest, 139 

Penn, William, 93, 247, 250, 257 

Penny, Jane, 376 

Pepys, Samuel, 9, 188, 200 

Percivale, Sir, 133 

Perry. Miss, 56 

Perugino, 300 

Peterborough, 170 

Pettit, Mr. and Mrs., 125 

Pewsey, 107 

Philip, of Spain, 131, 137, 139, 245 

Philip VI., 239 

Pincian Hill, 61 

Pitt, Sir William, 121 

Plymouth. 303 

Pompeii, 90 



Pope, Alexander. 64, 113. 237 
Portledge, 334 
Pottle, Henry. 135 
Poussin, Gaspard, -31 
Powell, Mary, 272, 273 
Powell, Richard, 272 
Prior, Matthew. 193 194 
Proctor, Adelaide, 173 
Purley Hall, 113 
Pym, Tohn, 229 

Queensbury, Duke, 149 

< linen's Drive. 314 

Ouillinan. Edward, 370, 380, 388' 

Raleigh, Christenynge, 331 
Raleigh, Sir Walter. 93. 13,. 229, 

331 
Ramsbury Manor, 201 
Raphael, 54 
Rawnsley, Canon, 390 
Reade, Charles. 94 
Reading. 33, j 10, 112 — 118, 210 — 

212, 228 
Red Pank, 404 
Rehan, Ada, 2S3 
Rembrandt, 231 
Reni, Guido, 231, 300 
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 279 
Richard, 116 
Richard T., 85, 117 
Richard II., 24, 121, 223, 287, 326 
Richard III., 76, 86, 2R7 
Richard Coeur de Lion, 131, 146, 

196 
Richard, Prince, 287 
Richmond, Duke of, 4 
Richmond, Legh, 350 
Rickmansworth, 259 
Ridd, John, 316. 337, 338 
Rivers, Earl, 287 
Roads, Seven Great, 5 
Robertson, Rev. Frederick W., 

92, q6 
Robin Hood, 79, 84, 8s, tot 
Robinson, Henry Crabb, 376 
Robsart, Amy, 58, 62, 63. 100 
Rochester, Earl of, 21 
Rock of Names, 392 
Roebuck, 113 
Rogers, 100 
Rogers, Jonathan. 253 
Rogers, Samuel, 401 
Romeo, 277 
Romsey, 169 — 173 
Rosamond, 13, 178 
Rosetti, William M., 3"0 
Rosse, Earl of, 94 
Rosthwaite, 400 
Rothav, 375, 380. 388, 403 
Rothschild. Alfred Charles de, 

267, 262 
Round Table, 130, 132, 306. 307 



INDEX 



421 



Round Tower Point, r6s 

Rowe, -'y- 

Rubens, 54. 231 

Rufus, \Jb 

Rufus, William, (see William 

n.) 

Runnyniede, 2ig, 239 
Rupert, Prince, 34, 35, 229 
Ruskin, lolm. 89, 90, 93, 370. 

397, 401—412 
Rydal Hall, 378 
Rj dal Mount, 177, 380, 386 
Rydal Park, 378 
Rydal Water, 380 

St. John, Vale of, 392, 394 
St. Kentigern, 397 
St. Michael's Mt., 303 
Salisbury, 174 — 179. igs, 303 
Salisbury, Bishop of, 21, 235 
Salisburj Cathedral, 183 
Salisbury, Countess tif, 224 
Salisbury, Earl of, 178 
Salisbury Plain, 174, 184 
Salterne, Rose, 329, 332 
Sandys. Archbishop, 373 
San Salvador, 76 
Sarum, Old, 180 — 184, 195 
Scillv Islands. 303 
Scott, Sir G. (',., 178 
Scott. Sir Walter. 42. 55, 58, 206, 

370, 37i, 385, 386, '392 

\ n, George, 200 
Semmes, Captain, 355 
Severn, 51 

Seymour, Jane, 2^4, 244 
Seymour. Lord, 199 
Shack leton, 257 
Shakespeare, 2, 0. 41, 137. 164, 

229, 230, 270, 284, 291 
Shallfleet, 16s, 166 
Shanklin, 348, 352, 36s 
Sharpnose, 329 
Sheffield, 67 

Shelley, Percy B., 96, 237, 370 
Shepherd, Jack. 4 
Sherborne, 181 
Sherborne Forest, 84 
Sherbourn. 64 
Sheridan, 200 
Shillingford, 105, 106, 108 
Shiplake, 212 
Shirley, James, 97 
Shotover, 272 

Shottery, 44, 46 
Shrewsbury, 5 
Siddons, M rs . Scott, 56 
Sidney, Sir Philip, 93, 179 
Simpson, Margaret, 382 
Skiddaw, 392, 396 
Ski lark. English, 193 
Slade, 333 
Slough, 248 



Smirke. Mr.. 133 

Smith, 370, 401 

Smith, Adam. g6 

Smith, Sydney, 96 

Smith. VVayland, Cave, 206 

Snow don. Mount. 404 

Solent, 147. uo. 155 

Somerset, Duke of. 22? 

Somerset. Karl of, 194 

Southampton, 140. 145 — 147 

Southey, Robert, 84. 370, 371, 375,. 

385. 39C— 397 
Spelman, Sir Henry, 143 
Spenser, Edmund, 303 
Sta in< 

Stanley. Dean. 96. 370, 378 
Steephill Castle, 366 
Stephen, King, 130 
Stephen. Sir, 312 
Stirling. 153 

Stirling. John. 350, 366 
Stoke Park, 250 
Stoke Pogis, 120, 247, 249 — 2,5, 

251 
Stonehenge, 181, 186 — 192 
Stoneleigh Abbey, 298 — 300 
Storrs Hall, 371 
Stratford-on-Avon, 33, 38 — j- 

270, 280 — 291. 292 
Strathfieldsa j 1 
Stratton i'ark, i_: 
Streatley, 12. 101. 1 1 1. 112, 210 
Striding Edge, 392 
Stukeleys, The, 333 
Sulgrave, 37 
Sumner, Charles, 165 
Surrey, 237 
Swallowfield, 120 
Swansea, Wales, 326 
Swift. Dean, 96 
Symphorian, St., 308 

Tallard, Marshall, 229 

Taw, 335 

Taylor, Bayard, 163 

Taylor, leremy, q6 

Telford, Thomas, 3 

Teniers, David, 231. 300 

Tennyson, Lord, 2. 162 — 165. 2S4. 

370, 378, 388, 403, 406 
Tenterdon, Lord, 93 
Terry, Eocn, 2S3 
Test. 147. 173 
Thame, 269, 270. 271, 275 
Thames, 100 — 113, 87, 89, 216 
Theodore, King, 235 
Thirlmere, Lake, 384, 392 
Thomson, Tames, 200 
Thornycroft. Walter II.. 143 
Three-mile Cross. 114, 119 
Tichborne, Sir Benj., 131 
Tigheldeau. 197 
Timbs, Jonn, 121 



4-- 



INDEX 



Tintagel, 302, 306, 312, 314 

1 intern, 115 

Torridge, 330, 331 

Totland Bay, 165 

Tristram, Sir, 133. 199, 308, 312 

Tupper, Martin F., 192 

Turner, Joseph M. W., 147, 401 

Tusculum, 52 

Twain, Mark, 1, 16 

Twyford, 212, 216 — 218. 2S9 

Tyburn, s 

Uffington, 203, 204, 206 
Uffington Castle, 207 
Ulette, S., 308 
Umberleigh, 333 
Underclin. 348, 351, 364 
Upavon, 107 
Usher, Archbishop, 97 

Vanbrugh, Sir John, 27S 
Vandyke, Sir Anthony, 54, 231, 

300 
Vane, Sir Henry, 96 
Van Rensselaer, Mrs. S., 176 
Vaughan, Sir Thomas, 287 
Ventnor, 49, 348, 365—368 
Vernon, ivlt., 120, 121 
Vespasian, Emperor, 181, 186, 192 
Victoria, Queen, 120, 122, 159, 
207, 220, 223, 231, 232, 233, 
300, 359, 411 
\ illiers, George, (see " Bucking- 
ham, Duke of ") 
Vudestoc, 20 

Wadebridge, 303 

Wall bridge, Elizabeth, 355 — 358 

Waller, Thomas, 256 

Wallingford, 108 

Walpole, xiorace, 200 

Waltire, Mr., 189 

Walton, Izaak, 138 

Wansfell, 375 

Wantage, 12, 207 

Warwick. 49 — 55, 278, 296, 300 

Warwick, Earl of, 51, 52, 308 

Warwickshire, 2, 277 

Washington, George, 37, 141. 270 

Washington, Lawrence, 37, 38 

Waterloo, 120 

Webster, Daniel, 120, 233 

Wellington, Duke of, 02, 120 



Wendover, 264 

Wesley, John, 91 

Wesleys, The, g3 

West, Benjamin, 138 

West Cowes, 147 

Westminster Abbey, 81, 128 

Westminster, Duke of, 220 

Westward Ho ! 330, 323, 329 

Whately, Archbishop, 93 

Whincorners, 317 

Whitehall, 157 

White, Henry Kirke, 84 

White Horse, Great, 197, 203 — 206- 

Vvmtfield, George, 92 

Whitgar 153 

Wight, Isle of, 6, 101, 348 

Wilberforce, Bishop, 93, 138 

Wilkes, John, 267 

Wilkie, 231 

Wilkinson, 370 

William, Conquerer, s°- 85, 86, 

. 130, 133, 134, 154, 222 
William II., of Germany. 231 
William II., (Rufus), "130, 148, 

169, 172. 183 
William III., 243, 250 
William IV., 120, 121, 223. 236 
Wilmington, Long Man of, 204 
Wilson, John, 94, 370, 372, 376 
Wiltshire, 104 
Wina, Bishop, 136 
Winchester, 88, 120, 125 — 145 
Windermere, 370, 403 
Windsor, 157, 209, 218^-238, 271 
Windsor Forest, 237 
Windus, 159 

Winter, William, 1, 40, 254, 283 
Wolsevey Castle, 13s 
Wolsey, Cardinal, 76, 78, 92, 94,. 

137, 244, 291 
Woodstock, 13 — 24, 26. 277 — 280 
Wooster, 96 
Worcester, 195, 280 
Wordsworth, Dorothy, 371. 380, 

386. 393 
Wordsworth, William, 254, 275, 

369—388, 392, 396, 397, 406 
WyclifFe, John, 93: 
Wythburn, 392 

Yew Crag, 400 
Young, Edward, 961 
Ywain, Sir, 312 



#-» inr\Cl 



JAN 11 1902 



